Healing Old Wounds
by Circlique
Summary: It starts as a mission to stop a crisis from spiraling out of control. All America wants is for there to be peace and for everyone to be happy. But then he begins to take an interest in a certain communist regime, and he sets out on a new mission to win him over, hoping to settle some of the more troubling things from their past along the way. America/North Korea AKA Commieburger
1. Coffee

****Title:** **Healing Old Wounds**  
><strong>****Character(s) or Pairing(s):** **Eventual Commieburger (America x North Korea), South Korea, China, and probably the majority of the other canon characters.**  
><strong>Rating:<strong> **T to M, not sure yet.**  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> **CommunistxCapitalist, maybe angst, possibly suggestive material later on.**  
><strong>Summary: <strong>**America takes an interest in a certain communist regime and sets out on a mission to win him over, hoping to settle some of the more troubling things from their past along the way.

America and Hetalia belong to Hidekaz Himaruya, but the version of NK that I'm using here, Im Sang Kyu, is my own.

Also, nation names are used throughout. Human names are used when there's an "intimate moment" or between nations that know each other well.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Voices could be heard echoing faintly from the main lobby, indistinguishable from one another except for the occasional burst of laughter from France. Every now and then someone could be heard calling the names of other nations, though it was difficult to tell who exactly was doing the calling. The main lobby was chaos, the noise and excitement from the many nations and their advisers almost deafening, but down the hall, it was much quieter. America, actually tired of the excitement for once, had wandered down the hall in search of some peace and quiet.

Once he was away from the worst of the noise, he ducked into a small room and closed the door behind him, hoping to get away long enough to breathe for a moment. Looking around, he appeared to have stepped into a small meeting room. There was a table in the middle with a few chairs around, probably only enough to seat five or six. Though there was a window, the blinds were down, and the walls were painted a rather dreary shade of grayish-blue. Apparently, those who normally used this room were not the most exciting of people. There was a typical office water dispenser in the corner, and next to it, a table with a coffee pot and some containers of creamer and sugar. Figuring it couldn't hurt if he had a little, America began brewing himself a pot of coffee.

He stretched for a moment as he waited, then paced, then stretched again, then paced a little more, and finally just stood watching the coffee brewer. This was taking forever! Sighing heavily, he finally just went over to one of the chairs and flopped down in it, sprawling himself out and throwing his legs up onto the table as if he owned the place. He slipped his jacket off and draped it over the back of the chair and stared at one of the framed pictures on the wall, which, unsurprisingly, was about as boring as the rest of the room—a black and white picture of the city of London 50 years ago.

London had been the city chosen to host the World Conference this year. England, America was sure, would kill him if he walked in and saw him with his feet up on the table. He'd probably get some speech about him being a "disrespectful American git," and "oh I raised you better" and a variety of other bad insults. It wasn't like the American cared though. The chances of England walking in right now were very slim. The Englishman would be busy tending to all the tasks that came with hosting the World Conference, so for now, he was alo—

Suddenly, the door to the little meeting room swung open and another man stared at him from the doorway. For a moment the man seemed surprised, but as soon as he realized who he was looking at, his features darkened. His expression was not friendly, his dark eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth drawn into a stiff frown. His dark hair was drawn neatly back into a short ponytail, his bangs brushed to the sides of his face. The man's shoulders seemed to tense under his olive green uniform upon seeing America lounging in the chair across the room. America smiled back at him anyway, if only to be annoying. This man was a communist.

North Korea, also tired of the constant shenanigans going on in the main lobby, had also been seeking some peace and quiet. America knew he was probably the last person he wanted to see, so he wasn't going to pass up a chance to try and piss the communist off.

"Commie," America grinned, crossing one foot over the other and leaning back in the chair a bit more, watching the communist from his spot across the room. From the way he was positioning himself, he thought, maybe to North Korea it would look like he had been waiting here for him the whole time, as some kind of _evil capitalist trick. _

"…Capitalist," the Korean hissed, glaring at him for a moment before stalking over to the little water cooler in the corner. America watched as he pulled a paper cup from the holder and filled it with water, his eyes narrowed even as he directed his gaze away from the American. A moment later, the Korean turned back to face him, his expression unchanged. He took a sip from the cup and leaned against the wall, staring him down. "What do you want?"

"Oh, I don't want anything," America responded, still smiling over at him. "I'm just waiting on my coffee." He motioned to the coffeemaker near to where the Korean was standing. "Why? Does my commie friend want something?"

"I want nothing but for you to fall off the face of the earth," the Korean growled, taking another sip from the paper cup.

America simply grinned back at him, chuckling. North Korea seemed to tense even more at his laughter.

"You really can't let anything go, can you?" he said, taking his feet off the table. 60 years ago he had sided with North Korea's brother, South Korea, in the Korean War. North Korea seemed to be under the impression that the whole ordeal was _America's _fault, and that he'd somehow poisoned South's mind with capitalist ideals, when in reality, most of the things South held against him were all his own doing.

His coffee looked like it was almost done, and he wondered what the Korean would do if he went so close to where he was standing to get it. North still leaned against the wall near the water cooler, which was right next to the table with the coffee stuff on it, staring at him, daring him to come over.

Of course, America was up to the challenge. Stretching once more, he pulled himself to his feet and strolled right past the North Korean to the coffee brewer. North glared at him darkly, and America raised an eyebrow at him curiously, waiting to see what he would do. Though the Korean seemed to be trying to stare him down, he didn't look like he was going to physically stop him from getting to his coffee. When it became apparent that North Korea wasn't going to do anything worse than stare holes into the back of his head, America hummed his national anthem while he poured himself a cuppa joe. Slowly. So he could milk the Korean's anger for all it was worth.

"Shut. Up." North growled, finishing off what was left in his cup and promptly crushing the thing in his fist afterwards.

"And the rockets' red glaaaare~!" America sang, looking over his shoulder to grin at the Korean once more. That quickly earned him a crumpled paper cup being thrown at his face, which hit him squarely in the forehead.

"Are you not understanding me? I am speaking English, Ttung-ttung. Or are you just not smart enough to understand your own language?" North sneered, grabbing another cup out of the dispenser and preparing to throw it at America.

"No, I understand you!" America assured him cheerily, spooning some sugar from the container into his coffee. Boy, messing with commies was fun. "I just don't take orders from _commies_." His voice took on a bit of an edge at the end as he smirked at the Korean haughtily. "By the way, what does 'ttung-ttung' mean?"

The next crumpled cup was instantly soaring towards his face, this time glancing harmlessly off his glasses. He slipped his glasses of his face for a moment to clean the lens with his sleeve before sliding them back on, smiling at the Korean as if it didn't even bother him, before going back to dumping spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee.

"It means you're fat," the Korean replied, reached for another cup but seeming to decide against throwing another as his allowed his hand to go back to his side, empty. "Ttung-ttung."

America stopped midway to dumping in another spoonful. "No I'm not! I—"

"You are. Look at yourself," North said, motioning to the spoonful of sugar in America's hand.

"There's nothing wrong with putting sugar in it!" the American responded, dumping it in and stirring it around before moving to look for a plastic lid. "Plus, I exercise! I play baseball with Mattie on the weekends!" Once he'd found a lid, he pressed it onto the top of the styrofoam cup and took a loud, slurping swig. He paused for a moment, then reached for the coffee pot and held it up, swishing what remained in it around. "You want some?"

"I—…No, stupid American! No, I don't!" North said, his frustration showing on his face. America grinned once more, knowing his goal of pissing off the communist had most certainly been achieved. He thought that, maybe if he could track down North later during their time in London, he would have to find some other way to get on his nerves. This was too much fun to leave as a one time deal.

"Idiot…" North continued. "I wouldn't even touch something you've contaminated."

"Oh, you wouldn't?" America asked, smiling mischievously. "Then what would you do if I did this?" He took a step closer, smiling wider as he took in the confused look on the Korean's face. It was kind of cute, actually! It was so much different than the glare he usually wore. It reminded him a bit of South Korea. He wondered what North would look like if he actually smiled...

He brought a hand up and poked him quickly in the shoulder, continuing to smile down at him. "Now that _you _are contaminated, what do you plan to do?" He laughed obnoxiously, proceeding to poke the Korean childishly a few more times, nearly gasping in surprise when his hand was suddenly grabbed and he found himself being jerked down to the shorter Korean's level.

North smiled at him darkly, his eyes gleaming. "I could always break your hand," he said smoothly, tightening his grip on America's hand.

America set his coffee aside on the meeting table, and, keeping eye contacting with the North Korean, brought up his other hand and began to pry North's off. He smirked at him once more. "I'd like to see you try," he said, managing to peel North's off and taking his hand back. He had to admit, he found the Korean's anger to be funny, even if he'd surprised him a bit by actually yanking him closer and threatening to break his hand.

Walking briskly past the Korean before he could do anything else, he retrieved his jacket and slung it over one shoulder, then reached again for his coffee. "Actually, I'd like to see you try a lot of things, Commie. Like maybe opening your eyes and realizing your 'Dear Leader' is nuts, huh?" he sneered, once again enjoying the death glare he was getting from North Korea. He chuckled again softly.

"Anyway, see you later, Commie. We should do it again sometime! It's been fun." He took another sip from his coffee victoriously, grinned at the communist one last time, and reached out to ruffle his hair for good measure as he walked out the door, leaving the North Korean to quietly seethe in his wake. He wondered, as he left, how things might have turned out if he'd stayed and messed with the communist further. The Korean was always so cranky when the American saw him...Maybe all he needed was a hug! As America walked back towards the main lobby, giving the communist a hug, he decided, would be how he would get on his nerves next time he saw him.


	2. Poking Around

**Chapter 2**

The rest of the day went by rather slowly, each of the nations heading off to their respective 'mini-meetings' to discuss things with allies or nations with similar interests. All of it was in preparation to get ready for the larger meetings that would be taking place throughout the week, which involved more of the nations trying to come to an agreement on larger issues.

America, who was currently seated in a meeting with Canada, Mexico, and Cuba, rested his chin lazily in his palm, propping himself up by the elbow. This meeting was aimed mostly at border problems—illegal immigrants from Mexico, people coming over to Florida from Cuba, Americans sneaking into Canada and vice versa…

Mexico, rather loud, dark-haired man, was rambling on and on about something, his voice hitting exceptionally loud points every once in a while that would occasionally jolt America from his day-dreaming. The American was actually staring past the rapidly-speaking Mexican at the wall, his eyes scouring the texture for little pictures—an activity he'd done when he was bored since childhood. He'd stare at the carpet, at the ceiling, into the dirt, at the clouds—all looking for little pictures. It was a habit he had never quite grown out of, and—oh, was Mexico talking to him?

"And furthermore, you need to—¡oye! Gringo, are you listening?"

America glanced up at him lazily. "Huh? Oh, yes, sorry, please continue," he said with a wave of his hand.

Mexico seemed to seethe a little. "Escucha, mi amigo. I'm not here to yap at you and have you not listen! Pay attention."

America nodded and the Mexican went on, but America was only vaguely listening.

After what seemed like forever and with few agreements made, the meeting ended and the nations began to gather up their things and file out the door. America seemed to take longer than the others, still day dreaming as he gathered up his things.

"You seemed out of it today…" someone said, causing America to jump. No one had been there before! He thought it must be a ghost! But he turned around and it was just his brother Canada, standing there and staring at him quietly.

"Oh…haha…" he laughed embarrassedly. "I didn't see you there, Mattie."

"Sorry…" his brother said softly, offering a shy smile. He had a tendency to go a bit unnoticed since he was so quiet. America bet he could beat any of Japan and his ninjas the way he managed to sneak around. "Are you okay?" the Canadian asked.

"Hm? Oh yeah, I'm great, Bro!" America replied with a laugh and a smile.

Canada continued to stare at him. "You just seemed…out of it…" he repeated, tilting his head just slightly. "Like…unfocused. Is there something bothering you?"

"N…no…" America said slowly. He didn't feel like he'd been any more unfocused than he usually was! He did have a tendency to day dream, but surely he hadn't been letting his thoughts drift any more than he usually did. At least, he didn't feel like he had been, but when you day dream like that, surely it would be possible to lose track of exactly how much time you spent day dreaming. "I'm fine, Mattie!"

His brother didn't really look convinced. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Mattie, I'm positive!" America insisted, smiling still, though he was actually beginning to get a bit annoyed. "Geez, you're like a mom or something! Relax, I'm fine."

Sighing, Canada seemed to accept that there was nothing wrong, at least for the time being. It was pretty obvious that he wasn't totally convinced, but he had nothing to go on. So for the moment, he nodded. "Okay, fine…"

Frowning, America walked over and threw and arm around his brother's shoulder. "Look, I'm fine, I swear!" he beamed. "I had coffee this morning. Maybe it's just weird British coffee messing with my head."

The Canadian seemed to like this idea a bit better. "A-alright…I guess you're probably right. It must just be a mixture of jet lag and bad coffee." He chuckled softly. "I guess I've been feeling a bit like that too. Maybe that's the reason Mexico was so short-tempered today as well."

America began leading them out the door, his arm still draped over Canada's shoulder. "Yeah, either that, or he was upset because I offered to buy him Taco Bell earlier."

"O-oh…" Canada said, looking like he was trying to hold back a laugh and failing. "Well, there's no better way to upset him than offering to buy him fake Mexican food, I suppose…"

"Haha, that's what makes him so easy to mess with!" America went on, satisfied that the subject had drifted far enough away from Canada's previous concern. "Next time I'm gonna offer him taco pizza."

Once Canada had gone to take care of some other business, America once again took the opportunity to stroll around. A lot of the other nations where still in meetings, so the halls were mostly empty. He was alone once again, except this time he wasn't looking for peace and quiet.

No, this time he was just plain bored. He was looking for someone to entertain him, but the only nations who seemed to be around were all ones who hated him. And they were all grouped up in one little area talking with each other too. Not safe ground, by any means.

He quickly shuffled past them, doing his best not to look at any of them.

Once he'd gotten past the hostile looking nations in the lobby, he was in another area with a bunch of conference rooms. The doors all had a small rectangular window in them, and America, being the curious person he was, couldn't help but poke his nose in on other people's business. Just a little… They wouldn't even know as long as they didn't see him right?

In the first room he peeked in, he saw several eastern European nations. Russia didn't seem to be there, but it was almost certain he'd popped up in conversation more than a few times if Latvia's current expression was any indication. Nothing too interesting there, so he moved on.

The next room was several of the South American nations. If America's Spanish had been good enough to pick up more of their rapid speech, he might have stuck around to eavesdrop. They were certainly yelling across the table loud enough to be heard from outside… But regardless, his ear for Spanish wasn't good enough to decipher anything worth listening to, so on to the next room it was.

The third room was…more yelling, unsurprisingly enough. Except this time insults were being thrown around in a strange hodge-podge of several different Asian languages that America would've had no hope of deciphering even if they hadn't been speaking so quickly. It wasn't clear exactly what was going on, except that whatever they had been talking about had devolved from civil conversation into something that bordered on WWIII. Several of them looked like they were ready to tear each other's throats out, and China was practically standing on the table trying to get them all to calm down, but to no avail.

America backed away a step, still peering in through the window, but hoping the distance would give him less chance of being spotted. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of really angry nations finding out he'd been eavesdropping (not that he had any idea what they were saying anyway). But he wouldn't have to worry about that for too much longer.

A second later he stepped back from the door completely. Whatever had been going on in there, it was over now—as was the meeting apparently. A shaken looking Japan was the first to scurry out the door, followed by Indonesia and Malaysia close behind. America pretended like he'd simply been walking by at the time, hanging off to the side as Philippines and Taiwan marched out angrily.

Now, America _had_ been wondering if his commie friend North Korea was in there. He hadn't been able to see with all the chaos, but his question was answered a few moments later. After another four Asian nations filed out the door, last but not least, came China, dragging a Korean along by the arm with each hand—North with his left and South with his right. America simply stood by and watched, knowing it was definitely best _not_to butt in when it involved the Koreas and with China looking as pissed as he did just then.

As China dragged the twins past America and down the hall, he seemed to be lecturing them in very, very angry sounding Mandarin. He wasn't sure what had happened, whether either of the Koreas had actually started it, or how whatever it was managed to get all of the rest of Asia involved, but America was sure something had gone down in there, and it had definitely involved those two.


	3. Toad In the Hole

**Chapter 3**

The next morning, America woke up messy-haired and groggy as always. It had been a long night, with another meeting (which had run late) and a long search in the dark for a place to eat in the city of London. It wasn't true that all English food was bad. It was just a matter of finding a place that met your tastes, which required Alfred to find a place that served fried stuff. In an unfamiliar city. In the dark. And all while trying to avoid less friendly nations also roaming about in search of a place to eat.

After he'd finally found a place, had dinner, and returned to the hotel, he was beat, his caffeine high from the coffee he'd had earlier having worn off long ago. He'd flopped down on the bed and laid there for several minutes before managing to get up again and drag himself to the shower.

Once he'd showered, he'd simply pulled on a fresh pair of American flag print boxers and flopped back onto the bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

Now it was morning, and he realized he was already well on the road to being late for another meeting. He'd been so tired the night before, he'd completely forgotten to set the alarm.

He jumped out of bed and rushed to pull on a pair of slacks and a light blue button-up shirt, then he quickly combed through his bed head, fumbled to put on his socks and shoes, struggled to tie his tie, and was about to run out the door when he realized it might be a good idea to take his briefcase to a meeting, and had to run back in and grab it before he finally left the hotel in a hurry.

By the time he'd gotten to the conference center, he was already ten minutes late, and by the time he'd finally found the room where the meeting was being held, he was twenty minutes late. This was the G8 meeting, undoubtedly one of the most important he'd attend the entire conference week, and the other nations stared at him as he hurried in. A few glared.

"How nice of you to join us, America," said England, his voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. He was one of the nations glaring, of course. America had just dared to be late to his—the _host's_—meeting. Of course he wasn't happy.

"Sorry I'm late, _pops," _America retorted, disliking the sarcasm he was getting. Geez, surely England had been late to an early morning meeting at least _once _before. He was probably just cranky because he had to host this whole world conference thing and keeps tabs on everything going on.

The American made his way over to the empty seat marked _United States of America _and sat down. "I just had to attend to some…things this morning and it put me behind schedule," he lied. Sleeping probably wasn't too important a thing to be tending too when he could be out solving world problems.

The Englishman snorted. "Oh, I'm sure," he said skeptically. He wasn't stupid. He knew Alfred well enough to know he wouldn't have any _real _business to take care of that early in the morning, but he seemed to put the whole issue behind him pretty fast. They were just wasting time discussing it, as far as he was concerned. "Now, if you'll look at that first sheet in that stack of papers in front of you, Alfred…"

America left the meeting a little after noon, just as tired as ever. He was definitely not a morning person. He'd have preferred if the meeting could have taken place in the afternoon, but at least it was over with now. There were no other meetings scheduled for him to attend until tomorrow, with the G8 meeting being one of the most important he would attend this week.

That left him the whole afternoon to himself. First thing was first though… Before he could decide what to do with all that free time, he had to face what he considered a major problem. He hadn't had lunch, and he was _hungry. _Once again he was faced with locating a decent restaurant nearby.

He wandered down to the parking garage and set to the somewhat hopeless task of finding his car. He'd been in such a hurry this morning he hadn't taken the time to take note of where he'd parked the darn thing… And it was a rental too, so he actually wasn't entirely sure what it looked like either. It was silver—he knew that much—but there were way more than a few silver cars parked in this parking garage. His best bet was going to be simply taking the set of keys and clicking the button until he found a car that responded to it… But that was going to take forever.

Pulling out his keys, he was just about to set to the hopeless task when he heard a familiar voice calling out to him. "Hey, Alfred!"

He looked around for the source of the voice, his eyes landing on the smiling face of none other than Yong Soo. His eye, however, was drawn instantly to the Korean's cheek, which was slightly swollen and sported a purple bruise about the size of a quarter where a blow had supposedly glanced off his cheekbone. South Korea would have instantly noticed America's expression change from delighted to concerned, but America didn't say anything about the bruise just yet.

"Hey, Yong Soo!" he called as the Korean walked towards him. "What's up?"

"I'm about to go to lunch," South Korea replied, stopping in front of him, pulling his car keys from his pocket, and jingling them around. "You need a ride?"

America looked down sheepishly. "Ah, ahaha, yeah, I do. I…can't find my car." He grinned wryly.

"Can't remember where you parked it, eh?" South said, smirking. "Don't worry! Preparedness originated in Korea, after all!" An arm was thrown around the American's shoulder, and he soon found himself being led farther down into the parking garage. "I've got plenty of extra room in my ride!"

"Thanks, bro!" America grinned, ruffling the Korean's hair playfully. "You know any good places around here to eat?"

"Yeah, I got a place in mind," South replied, leading him to a dark blue car a level lower in the parking garage than they'd previously been on.

The Korean pressed the 'unlock' button on his keys, and the car suddenly came alive with a blink of its headlights and a short double-beep. South went over to the driver's side while America made his way over to the passenger side. The two of them climbed in, and soon enough the keys were in the ignition and there was K-pop blasting from the speakers.

"Ohp! Sorry," South said, turning down the volume. "Forgot I had the speakers turned up so loud."

As soon as they were all buckled up and situated, South backed the car out of its parking place and drove them down to the ground level of the garage. A moment later, they were out in the streets of London.

"So where is this place, Yong Soo?" America asked. "Is it good?"

"It's just a few blocks away," South replied, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "I'm not sure if it's good or not. I haven't been to it before, but Kiku mentioned it and said it was alright."

"What's it called?"

"Some place called The Stockpot?"

"Sounds weird. Let's try it!"

It only took a few minutes to get there, even with the lunch rush clogging the streets. It was a relatively ordinary looking restaurant, set into the ground floor of a multi-story building. 'THE STOCKPOT' was spelled out in giant letters above the doorway. There wasn't any possible way they could've mistaken it for a different restaurant. Though they'd found the restaurant with little trouble, South Korea had to drive them farther down the street before he could finally find a place to park, and from there the two of them simply walked to the restaurant.

The inside definitely spoke of England, with its quaint décor and relaxed lighting. They had to wait a while before they could get a table, but it wasn't too long, and soon enough they were seated and looking over the menu.

South Korea giggled at something on the menu. "'Toad in the Hole?' That's a silly name for food. Is it really a toad?"

America glanced down to where he was reading. "No… It says here it's sausages in Yorkshire pudding batter… It's some kind of old English dish! I think maybe England used to make it for me when I was little."

"So…it's like sausage pudding?" South asked, an eyebrow raised quizzically.

"Sort of," America said, shrugging. "I think I might get that. It sounds better than 'Steak and Kidney Pudding' anyway." He made a bit of a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out a little.

"In that case I think I'll get it too then," the Korean said, nodding in agreement. "And we probably get our food quicker if we have the same order anyway!"

As if on cue, a waitress arrived to take their order. She'd probably been able to tell they were foreigners by the way they'd spent so long looking over the menu and chuckling at the funny names. Smiling cheerfully, she told them she'd get their food out to them as soon as possible and disappeared to somewhere else in the restaurant. In the meantime, America turned to Yong Soo.

"So, um…" he started a bit awkwardly, knowing it was sort of rude to ask questions about things people didn't necessarily want to talk about. "What happened?"

"Huh?"

"There," America said, tapping his cheek with his finger, referring to the bruise on South Korea's slightly swollen cheek.

The Korean's gaze suddenly turned a bit dark. "My brother happened."

"Which brother?"

"Which one do you think?" the Korean snapped, his eyes burning with an intensity America had only seen there once or twice before.

"Oh."

South picked up the glass of Coke that had been brought for him by the waitress and took a long drink before he looked back to America. "We got in a fight yesterday. Did you see? I saw you outside the conference room."

America looked at him a bit sheepishly. Even if Yong Soo didn't necessarily know he'd been snooping, he knew he'd been hanging around the conference room. "No. I just saw China dragging you and North out."

"Yeah," South grumbled, stirring his drink with his straw idly, his chin resting in his other palm. "Well, we got in a fight, and China had to drag us out."

America hesitated to ask the next question, aware that he was treading on thin ice. "What started the fight?"

The swirling straw in South's glass seemed to pick up speed, creating a mini Coke whirlpool in the cup. "_The_ _Cheonan _got brought up somehow," he said.

Oh. That would make a lot of sense, America thought. _The_ _Cheonan _had been a proud South Korean naval vessel, one of its armed corvettes. Of course, it was at the bottom of the sea now, thanks to North Korea. All evidence pointed to a torpedo fired from a North Korean mini-sub, and so, North Korea took the blame for the sinking of a South Korean navy vessel, and the death of 46 sailors in South Korea's own waters. It had happened just a few months earlier, so the pain would still be fresh in Yong Soo's mind, making it an easy set-off for a fight.

"I don't even remember who brought it up or why…" South continued with a scowl, "…But he said something like…'I hear your boats can't read a map. Please inform them where the sea border is so there aren't any more unfortunate _incidents.'" _He continued to stir his Coke, his dark eyes staring at the little whirlpool as he did so._ "_And he had that _smile. _I just…I wasn't going to take that. There were people on that boat! He _killed _our people! And he talks about it like it's some game! So I went over the table and slugged him one in the jaw, then he got me on the side of my face, and then…I don't even know. We were on the floor and they had to pull us off one another."

America listened in silence, eyeing Yong Soo with a look of concern. The Korean was stirring his Coke so intensely that it was beginning to spill over the sides, and America had to reach over and pull his hand away from the cup to calm him. Korea met America's eyes, looking like tears of fury were about to spill over.

America didn't really know what to tell him. What did you say to someone whose own brother had done such a thing as to murder his own people and show little to no concern for it?

"Listen, Yong Soo…" he said, trying to pull comforting words out of thin air as he went along. "You two…just need to sit down and have a long talk…and believe that things will get bette—"

"America," South interrupted, his eyes flitting down to stare into his drink once more. "I don't think things are going to get better. I'm losing faith that we could just…be _Korea _again," he said hopelessly.

"Why not?" America asked, beginning to regret bringing it up at all. "I mean…you guys are brothers! You're _twins _for god's sakes! You miss him don't you? I mean, I'm sure he misses you too! And isn't that brotherly bond stronger than the bitterness between two governments?"

South Korea was silent for a long moment, staring into his now still Coke, tears still stinging at the corners of his eyes, though he stubbornly willed them not to fall.

"That's the problem though…" he sighed, defeated. "Sang Kyu is a changed man. He's not the brother I used to know. When I look him in the eye, they're not the same eyes he used to have. You said a brotherly bond is stronger than two governments? Well, I don't think he remembers…I think maybe he's not any different than his government now…"

America was silent. He didn't really feel that he could relate. Sure, he and Mattie had fought before, but it hadn't stopped them from being brothers! Even after the War of 1812, things had gotten better, and now they were closer than ever before. And even England! Even after the Revolution and the War of 1812 and numerous other disagreements, that hadn't stopped them from being friends. Things had always gotten better…

He reached across the table to lay a hand on South's shoulder, hoping the motion would be comforting somehow. "You just have to keep trying. Nothing will ever get better if you stop trying," he said. "He'll have to see eventually."

South looked up and gave him a weak smile. It was obvious he was trying to force one, just to get the conversation to end faster. "Yeah…yeah…" he said. "I guess you're right…"

"Look, I'm sorry I brought it up, okay! Let's talk about something else," America suggested, glancing up just in time to see their waitress coming with their food. What a lifesaver! "Hey look!" he said, nodding in her direction. "I bet that's ours. Let's see how the ol' 'Toad in the Hole' tastes, shall we?"

A moment later, the odd English dish was placed in front of them, a delicious aroma wafting up from it.

"It smells really good," South commented, his distress from earlier fading at the sight of the food. "Well, you said England used to make this for you, right? Is it good?"

"Taste it and find out," America said with a smile. "You'll like it, I'm sure."


	4. Boredom and Lectures

**Chapter 4**

Once they'd tasted the food, their previous conversation about North Korea was completely forgotten, and the mood improved drastically. That was the beauty of Alfred's friendship with Yong Soo—even if they had a rocky moment or two, they could be back to normal in a matter of minutes, as if nothing had ever happened. Such was the case now. There was not another mention of the reclusive communist nation for the rest of their lunch, and they continued their conversation as if it hadn't even been brought up in the first place.

A lot of giggling and a pretty good lunch later, South Korea and America were once again in the car on their way back to the conference center. K-pop once again blasted through the speakers. South Korea sang along while America struggled to make out what he could of the quick speaking singers' language. After a couple of blocks, he gave up.

When they reached the parking garage, America leaned over and tapped Korea's shoulder. "Hey, slow down a little," he said, reaching into his pocket to dig around for his car keys.

"Why?" South Korea asked, glancing at him from the corner of his eye and slowing down a little as the car entered the darkness of the garage.

"I need to figure out which car is mine or I'll have to spend forever trying to find it on foot later," America explained, rolling down his window. "I bet I can find it faster this way."

Shrugging, South Korea sped up just slightly while America poked his head and arm out the window, car keys in hand. Pointing it at the row of cars, he clicked the button repeatedly as they drove past, paying special attention to silver cars. A few levels up, one of them finally responded, its tail lights flashing as it beeped twice.

"There it is!" he exclaimed as Yong Soo slowed to a stop. America turned to his Korean companion. "What section is this? Do you see a sign?"

The Korean glanced around, and, not seeing anything immediately, rolled down his window and stuck his head out of the car to get a better look. "There," he said, pointing. "You're in section D4. Silver Toyota."

"Cool," America nodded, pulling himself back inside the car and rolling the window up. South Korea did the same. "D4. Silver Toyota. I'll remember that."

By now, another dark car had pulled up behind them. The driver hesitated as he approached, unsure why there was a random car just sitting in the middle of the parking garage. A moment later the driver in the other car honked the horn at them, an angry noise that cut through the air and echoed off the concrete walls of the parking garage. Yong Soo noticed, and with a quick glance in the rear view mirror, nudged the car forward as America got situated in his seat again.

"Guess we'll get going now," the Korean said, speeding up once America was back in his seat. "I need to find a place to park real quick and then I gotta run. I've got another conference this afternoon."

He drove up another level, glancing in the rearview mirror every now and then. America turned around to look behind them. The car that had been behind them a moment ago was still there, also apparently looking for a place to park.

Around the next turn there was finally an open space, and South Korea pulled the car into it with a sigh. The other car continued past, still looking for an open parking spot.

Korea put on the parking break, then shut down the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition. He had his seatbelt unbuckled and was already climbing out of the car before America had even reached for his seat belt buckle. Korea must really be in a hurry, he thought. And so, he sped himself up, undoing the seatbelt and getting out of the car as quickly as he could so Korea could lock it up and be on his way.

America considered asking who South Korea had a conference with this afternoon, but considering how their conversation earlier had gone, he didn't want to run the risk of asking and then having Korea's conference buddies include North Korea. He'd already pried into Korea's business enough for one day.

The Korean pressed the button on his key and the car beeped to indicate that it was locked. He was already starting to rush away when America called out to him. "Hey, wait!" he said, pointing the sign with the parking section on it. "Don't make the same mistake I did! You're in section E6, okay?"

Korea waved his hand to indicate that he'd heard. "Okay!" And a moment later he was gone, running off to find an elevator so he could get to whatever floor he needed to be on.

America stood there for a moment, puzzled. South Korea hadn't acted like he was in too much of a hurry before. In fact, he couldn't remember him mentioning that he had a meeting so soon after his lunch break. Surely he would've brought that up, right? Being the chatty Korean he was?

But it really wasn't his place to worry about it, so he let it go. Now armed with the knowledge of where he'd parked his car, he went off to find an entrance to the building so that he could figure out what he was supposed to do for the rest of the afternoon.

The parking garage was attached directly to the building on one of the lower levels. The doorway he entered led to a stairwell, and from the stairwell there was a door that led into the building. He glanced at the sign next to the door on his way in. "FLOOR 3" was spelled out in big, white block letters against a black background. So he was on the third floor then… He let the door close and click shut behind him.

Once he was inside, he wandered aimlessly through the halls for a good fifteen minutes looking for something to do. He had no meetings he needed to be at, and it was too early to go back to the hotel for the night. He would have gone to see the city of London, but he'd seen most of its attractions before, and it wasn't as much fun to see alone. He would have preferred to go with England so he could listen to him yak on and on about this and that and what he was up to when this was built, and how this monument commemorated that event. And then he could tease him and say attractions in America were much better, and then laugh when the Englishman got irritated. But alas, England was probably busy in a meeting right now, and even if he was, he was the host. He couldn't be expected to leave to go show some former colony around the city anyway. It hurt a little, knowing England didn't have as much time for him anymore. It'd been a long time since they'd just…hung out.

Perhaps there was someone else around who didn't have anything to do. A few nations were wandering the halls as well, but most of them were dressed sharply and carrying briefcases. That was a pretty sure sign that they were going to a meeting, not looking for a way to kill time. He sighed, anticipating a boring afternoon ahead.

He continued his wandering. The halls up here were finely carpeted, mostly red with ornate designs criss-crossing all over the floor. The walls were a warm beige color, decorated with paintings of plants and animals, mostly birds. Every once in a while there might be a real, potted plant making itself at home next to a cushioned bench, one of which America immediately took a seat on as soon he saw it. He was still tired from getting up early this morning. Maybe he would just…nap here…

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew he was blinking awake on that same cushioned bench. The halls seemed to be deserted now. He hoped no one had seen him randomly sleeping on some bench in the conference center! What time was it anyway? The American reached into one of his pockets and pulled out his phone. 2:34 PM it said. So he'd been out about an hour.

Sitting up, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and blinked the sleepiness from his eyes, waiting for that heavy feeling you have when you just wake up to leave his head. Well, he'd killed an hour's worth of time, at least. But he still needed to find something to do for a couple of hours or he feared he might actually die of boredom!

When he felt awake enough to focus, he stood up from the bench and took a long, luxurious stretch. Ahh, that felt good. But where was everybody? It suddenly occurred to him that he _was_ on the third floor. Maybe he needed to get down to the ground floor, and then he might run into some people. Walking down the hall a little ways, he finally found an elevator, pressed the button, and waited. America could hear machinery and cables moving in the column on the other side of the doors, but it didn't keep him from being impatient. Ugh! It actually made it seem like it was taking longer, with all the noises but the elevator never actually showing up.

Just when he was about to start jamming the button again, the doors popped open and he was greeted by the faces of a couple of African nations. Stepping inside, he wedged himself in between them and waited for the elevator doors to close.

"Hi!" he said smiling, hoping to strike up some simple conversation at the very least.

"Jambo?" one of them asked. She was dark skinned, with her black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She had those lines around the corner of her eyes that told you she smiled a lot. America identified her as Kenya. "How are you America?"

"I'm good!" he replied, grinning. "But I'm super booooored!"

The other nation—who America thought might be Uganda, though he wasn't really sure—stood quietly in the corner, observing the two from a respectful distance with a soft smile. His hair was really short, shaved very close to his head.

"Ah, I'm sorry!" Kenya replied, offering him an apologetic smile. "I would offer to do something with you America! But we're on our way to a meeting…"

America's smile faded slightly with the disappointment. It seemed like he was the only person who didn't have a meeting this afternoon, which was unusual. Normally he was always being called away to try and mediate other nations' problems, but it was as if God had purposefully giving him free time when everyone else was busy just to make him bored! It was like some kind of punishment.

"It's okay," he said, glancing up to see what floor they were on. The number changed and suddenly they were on the ground floor. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. "Hey, maybe I'll see you guys later though?" he said, like he was trying to reassure himself as he stepped out.

"Maybe!" Kenya replied, stepping out of the elevator along with her companion. "See you later, America. Have a nice day!" She gave him a little wave, and then the two of them headed off in the other direction.

Alone once more, America looked back and forth down the hall each way. The Africans had gone to the right, which led to the conference rooms. He probably wasn't going to find any entertainment down there, unless he was going to go snooping on other people's conferences again. He looked down the hall to his left, where there was a large, open lobby area. There were a few nations loitering around there, so maybe if he went that way he'd find someone who was just as bored as he was!

Strolling down to the lobby, he started looking around immediately. There were a few South American nations gathered in the far corner, babbling in Spanish so fast America couldn't have hoped to understand any of it. Sweden and Norway were sitting on a couch near the center of the room, though they seemed like they were doing their best to pretend the other didn't exist. America considered trying to talk to them, but he had a feeling the conversation would dissolve into awkwardness. Neither of one of them was much of a talker.

There were a few other people around, but they all seemed to be on their way to meetings as well. Dang! It looked like today just wasn't his day. He began to wish he'd brought his DS or something. Then at least he could have played that until Japan or someone got out of a meeting and could come play with him.

He made his way over to a cushioned chair not far from Sweden and Norway and sat down. If worse came to worse, he would try and engage in conversation with them. But due to the fact that they didn't even seem willing to even talk to each other, he was reluctant. He stretched out on the chair in the meantime.

"Finally awake, capitalist?" a voice sneered behind him. "Or just changing locations, hm? Lazy pig."

America tilted his head back to look. Standing behind him with his arms crossed was North Korea. There was a dark bruise making itself at home across his jaw, evidence of his fight with South Korea yesterday. Crap! So someone had seen him when he'd been sleeping. And off all people it'd been the stupid commie!

"Go 'way K'rea," Sweden grunted from a few feet away, looking at the Korean over the rims of his glasses. "Don't c'me 'ere jus' t'pick a fight."

"I'll do what I want," North Korea retorted, frowning hard at the opposition he was getting just for showing up.

"What _do_ you want, commie?" America asked, still looking at him with his head tilted backwards. He was actually somewhat grateful he'd shown up when he had. Something to do at last! And there were few things more fun than pissing off a commie. "Don't you have a meeting to be at?"

"No," North said, shrugging. "South and I are banned from our meetings today. I just wanted to let everyone know how the American has been sleeping on the jo—"

"Wait," America interrupted, sitting up and turning around to look at him. His neck was beginning to hurt. "You got banned from your meetings? Because of that fight? But Yong Soo said—"

"The brat's a little liar," North said, his brows drawing together at the mention of his twin.

"You didn't even hear what I was gonna say!"

"It doesn't matter. He's a liar."

America sat there staring at him, bewildered. "Why are you such a jerk to him? Doesn't it matter to you at all that he's your brother?"

"Go 'way if yer gon' fight," Sweden grumbled from his spot on the couch. "No 'ne wants t'listen t'yer bick'r'n'."

"Honestly," Norway chided in agreement, glaring at them. "I thought I'd get a break from all that after I got out of my last meeting.

"Fine, fine, fine," America grumbled, trying to draw the conversation away from the building argument somewhat. He looked back to the Korean. "At least tell me then: You got banned from your meetings because you guys fought, right?"

North Korea nodded. "South's too much of a goody-good to get banned for anything else."

"You're banned from all your meetings today or just the meetings with him?"

"It wouldn't matter. All we had scheduled for today was more meetings with Asia anyway."

It didn't really make sense. So South Korea had lied about having to run off to a meeting after lunch. But why would he lie about that? Was he embarrassed that he'd gotten banned from his meetings today? Possibly, but that didn't explain why he'd been in such a rush when they'd gotten back from lunch. If he was banned from his meetings, he wouldn't have anywhere to be. So why rush? Come to think of it, if he wasn't in a meeting, then where _was_ he? It didn't add up.

"So why are you here then?" America asked.

"I'm bored." The North Korean shrugged. "I can at least wait until some meetings get out and talk to friends in between."

A wry smile crept onto America's face as he struggled to contain his laughter. The Korean had just set himself up for a perfect diss. "You have friends?" America knew it was a dick move, but it was just too perfect to pass up.

The anger showed instantly on the Korean's face. "Yes…I do." It was apparent that he was holding back. He probably wanted to punch America's lights out just for that one little comment, but didn't want to risk getting in more trouble.

"Who?" American challenged, smiling haughtily.

The Korean made a face and started listing them off. "Iran, Syria, Pakistan, Leban—"

"You sound like you're 'friends' with a bunch of mobsters," America sneered, chuckling. "They're all halfway across the world from you and all you do is trade weapons with them."

"You don't have any friends," North Korea countered. "Just a bunch of 'allies.' They wouldn't stand up for you if you…didn't have things they needed." It was clear North Korea was reluctant to admit that America had influence; much less that he was a superpower.

"Well, do your 'friends' ever stand up for you?" America challenged, still giving him a cocky grin. "None of them have ever said anything in your defense."

"Iran—"

"'Mer'ca, go s'mewhere else," Sweden insisted again. "B'fore I g't up 'n drag y'both 'way by th'scruff o' th'neck."

"…_Fine," _America finally agreed. This conversation was probably going to get to be too much for the lobby anyway.

Standing up from his seat, America stepped around the back of the chair and took the Korean roughly by the arm. North Korea pulled back almost immediately. "Let go of me, Capitalist!" A couple of the South Americans in the corner turned to look at all the commotion. But America didn't stop, instead dragging the Korean, still struggling, down the hall just past the elevators before finally allowing North Korea to wrench his arm away.

"What are you doing?" the Korean demanded, holding back less now that there weren't as many people around.

"Look!" America said, serious now. "I don't know what your problem is, but it's gotta stop! Why are you such a jerk to Yong Soo?"

"You stay out of our business, American!" North Korea snapped, his eyes boring into America's. "It's _your _fault things are the way they are!"

America flinched slightly at the sudden accusation, but he knew he shouldn't really be surprised. It was nothing new. "What? How is it my fault? Everything that's wrong between you two is your own fault! You're the one who's always threatening him with missiles and sinking his boats! You're the one who insists he's a liar without even knowing what he said!"

"My brother's an idiot," North growled, never taking his eyes off America. "You poisoned his mind against me with your capitalist propaganda years ago. He completely disregards family to go frolicking off with equally idiotic people such as yourself." He snorted softly. "Kuh! He's even starting to take a liking to that Japanese bastard apparently! Has he forgotten the years of suffering we went through under his tyranny?"

"Your brother is his own person!" America could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was North seriously convinced America had 'poisoned' Yong Soo? "If he wants to be a free country, he's going to be a free country! If he wants to forgive Japan, he's going to forgive Japan! You can't control him! Are you sure he's the idiot here? Last I checked, _he_ wasn't the one struggling to feed his own people!"

One of the doors opened down the hall, and America realized with horror that a meeting had just gotten out. Shit! And here he was in the middle of the hall arguing rather loudly with a nation everyone else knew he didn't get along with. But it was a little late to drag North Korea off to some other location. With the mood North was in right now, trying to move him the same way he had before was only going to cause more of a scene.

"They're not starving!" North flat out denied. "That's more capitalist propaganda! Once again trying to—"

"Oh, just shut up!" America snapped. "I'm not stupid! The whole world knows your crazy leader spends so much money on your stupid military that all your people are stuck eating grass. Are you proud of that? Do you even care about them?"

The Korean's face was turning red with rage. "Don't even _imply_ that I don't care about my people, you lying—"

"Dìdì!"

A scolding voice suddenly rose above the arguing, and North's expression instantly changed to something like that of a child's when they get caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar after their mother has told them not to take any more. He knew just by the sound of that voice that he was in deep trouble.

He whipped around, looking like he was already digging through the depths of his mind for an explanation. "Hyung!"

China, who must've been in the meeting that had just ended, marched towards the pair, his face just as red as his flag as his eyes whipped between the American and the Korean before finally locking on the Korean as he decided he was going to deal with his misbehaving younger sibling first. North Korea straightened up and stood stiffly, facing him. He realized he'd just pissed off his most important ally, and that he was probably in for a beating now.

America took a fairly large step back, but China shot him a look that said, 'don't you _dare_ go anywhere!' America stood rock still after that. Man, China could be scary when he was angry! He didn't dare move, and could only glance around at the confused nations who were passing by as he stood awkwardly awaiting his fate to be dealt at the hands of China.

Yao took the Korean roughly by the front of the shirt as soon as soon he was close enough to reach him. America couldn't see North's face, but he guessed it was probably a mix of bewilderment and actual fear. North Korea was probably one of the few people who did things that upset China enough to ever see him this angry. The Korean held his hands up in surrender and hastily began trying to explain himself in stammering Chinese, but Yao would have none of that. Yao raised his voice above North Korea's and must have been giving him a lecture to end all lectures in Mandarin, because the Korean didn't speak again after that. America knew some Chinese thanks to doing business with them in Asia, but China was speaking so quickly and angrily that he picked up little more than his own name in the rapid jumble of words.

China said something short and terse, and the Korean responded with what must've been something like a 'yes sir.' China finally let him go, then pointed down the hall towards the conference rooms, and watched as the Korean walked stiffly in that direction, just to make sure he actually went. When he was out of earshot, he turned his blazing eyes on America. America thought he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" China demanded, suddenly seeming like he towered over America even though in reality he was several inches shorter. "I don't know what is going on but you must be a complete imbecile to think it's a good idea to try talking to him in the middle of the hall!"

"China, I—"

"No! You be quiet and listen to me!" China roared, taking another step closer. The nations who were passing by looked at the two curiously, then decided it was best not to be involved and quickly scurried past them. "You ought to have learned by now that you can't have a reasonable conversation with him! He won't listen no matter what you tell him. When you try and talk reason to him you just make things worse. Especially when it's _you,_ because he believes everything _you_ say is some kind of plot or conspiracy! Do you realize what kind of damage you're causing when you talk to him? He's going to take everything you say to heart, whether you mean it or not! And he'll go back to his isolation and do who knows what kind of planning against you and Yong Soo! You think he lets his boss go around building weapons like nobody's business because he's _bored?_ Every time you talk to him he thinks you're up to something, and that just makes him all the more eager to get back home and build weapons! What if one day he got the idea you and South were going to try something and launched one of them? You want to be responsible for something like that just because you said something that he took the wrong way?"

"He's stupid if he tries to blow something up just because I said something that upset him!"

China was fuming by now. "He's irrational, America! I've been around far longer than you have! I can tell when someone's just about lost their willingness to cooperate, and he's definitely at that point. I raised him and Yong Soo since they were little kids! He may act in ways that make no sense to you, but I can see when he's about to lose it. _Don't push him._ Do you understand me?"

America was still staring at him, wide-eyed. Dang, getting lectured by China was like getting lectured by an over-protective parent! He hadn't gotten this kind of scolding since way back in his colonial days, when he'd let a snake loose in a guest room where one of England's officials had been staying. He couldn't say he agreed with everything China said. _Something_ had to get through to North Korea, he just hadn't found out what it was yet. But he nodded stiffly, just to get China to back off.

The Chinese man stood down, huffing as if felt like he was everyone's babysitter and was getting sick of it. "Don't let me catch you hanging around him," he warned, giving America a sharp look.

"Fine," America agreed, though he had a feeling he wasn't going to hold up to that agreement.

"Hm," China grunted, still glaring at him. "I better not."

America offered him a forced smile, but China just waved a dismissive hand at him before turning and disappearing down the hall, leaving America alone once more.

**Author's notes:**

Dìdì = 'little brother' in Mandarin Chinese

Hyung = 'older brother' in Korean

China is North Korea's most valuable ally. The North Koreans rely on them heavily for economic and humanitarian aid, which is why it's so important that North doesn't piss China off. He can't afford to lose that alliance.


	5. Just Stuff About Things

I'm very sorry about the long wait! Life's gotten very busy for me, and writers' block doesn't help one bit. I'll try and update more frequently if I can.

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

The American lay awake in bed that night thinking about the many questions swimming in his head. What if Yong Soo had been in such a hurry to run off because he was meeting someone? But then…who was he meeting and why? Would the person just be a friend or would he be plotting something with them? If they were plotting something, then what? And against who? But then America had to take a moment and remind himself that the idea that Yong Soo was having secret meetings with people was a ridiculous one and that surely he'd been doing something much more…innocent. Which would, of course, remind him that he had no idea what leisurely activities South Korea could possibly have to rush off too in the middle of London, and he would continue to worry and speculate.

As for what might get through to North Korea, well, he didn't even have an idea.

At some point his mind must have calmed down enough for him to get to sleep, because the next thing he knew, he was jolting awake to the abrasive buzz of the hotel clock's alarm. His fingers groped for the off button and he gave a half-sigh, half-groan of relief when the noise was finally cut off. Blinking sleep from his bleary eyes, he sat up slowly and took in the unfamiliar surroundings of the hotel room for a moment or so before finally dragging himself from the warm embrace of the bed and going to get dressed.

That morning's meetings were long and tedious, as expected. The longest of them was with a lot of the Europeans, so of course America had to endure England's constant cynicism toward every idea he proposed. It got extremely old after a while. How was America supposed to help out Europe with their economy problem if England insisted on disagreeing with every single thing he said? After a while it got so old that the American finally just shut his mouth and listened to the rest of them argue, somewhat grateful that the Englishman's attention would now be focused on France instead of him.

When the meeting ended hours later with few agreements, he wasn't surprised, and left feeling like he could have skipped the whole meeting and wouldn't have missed a thing. What a great waste of a day! It was no wonder world politics moved so slowly. Not that the nation-spirits themselves really got much say—they just got to hand suggestions and observations to their bosses and hope it amounted to something. They could tell their bosses how so-and-so felt about some idea or suggestions other nations had given, but in the end the decisions fell on their leaders, not them, so if nation meetings had been unproductive, the information they gave back to their bosses was equally useless, and world relations went nowhere.

That was how it always had been, and how it always would be.

Since it was well past noon and America still hadn't eaten, he decided the first thing he should do was grab some food. He didn't have another meeting until the evening, so he had the next few hours to himself.

While he was trying to decide where to go for lunch, he saw a familiar face passing him out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Yong Soo." He reached out to clap a hand firmly on the man's shoulder to keep him from walking past.

The Korean stopped and cast a wary glance at the other. "Oh, hey, Alfred," he said before his eyes drifted back to the oh-so-interesting floor. For a moment, it looked like he might not say any more, then he seemed to force himself to continue. "Look, I, um, need to talk to you."

America pulled back a little in surprise. Well, that had certainly caught him off-guard. He'd expected to be the one demanding to talk to Korea, not the other way around. Maybe whatever Korea needed to talk to him about had to do with where he'd been yesterday.

"Well, are you going to a meeting?" America asked, eyeing the other's suit and tie.

"I just got out of one."

"Perfect. I was about to go to lunch, so we can talk about it then if you haven't eaten yet."

"I haven't, so that works…"

They ended up back at The Stockpot, both of them in their suits and ties.

After the waitress had come to take their orders, America looked at Korea expectantly. The other had been silent since they'd gotten here. Clearly, if America ever wanted to know what Yong Soo needed to tell him, he'd just have to start the conversation himself. "You said you wanted to talk about something?" he prompted, watching as the other stirred the water the waitress had brought for him with his straw.

"Yeah…" Korea started, making a face like he wasn't exactly sure how to begin, his eyes focused on his water. He was quiet for a moment as he watched his straw create a mini-whirlpool in his cup. Korea had done the same thing last time they'd been here, America realized, when the subject of North Korea had come up.

"Well…?" America asked when the Korean was still silent a moment later. Korea shot him a frustrated look as if to say, 'don't rush me.'

The Korean let out a frustrated sigh. "I got a call from my boss last night," he said finally, sparing a glance at America for only a moment. "You know those military drills North kept threatening 'deadly retaliation' over if we went through with them? …Yeah, well, we are."

America's heart jolted. "You're doing them anyway?"

"Yes… And, um…" Korea continued, looking very uncomfortable indeed, "I hope you didn't have any plans for Christmas this year…because my boss said he got a call from your president, and apparently the North Koreans are asking your boss to send a delegation to talk to them before we start the drills. And since we're not sure how much influence North has with his leaders, my boss is asking if you can go too. Just in case…" He looked up for a moment to see America's reaction. "So…yeah."

America must have sat there for a moment just staring at Korea, because the other had to speak up to grab his attention once more. "Al?"

"Oh, um…"

Well, his first reaction had been a little twinge of fear. North Korea _had _responded negatively to South Korean drills before. They _had _fired back before, resulting in the deaths of four people on a border island, not so long ago. America bit his lip. He still remembered all his frantic phone calls to Yong Soo, asking if he was okay, if people had been hurt, if he thought they were going to war. It was all still fresh in his mind. There was no telling what North Korea might do if South Korea went through will drills the North had already threatened retaliation for. It seemed like a recipe for disaster. America had already spent the '50s fighting a war to make sure South Korea stayed democratic, out of the clutches of communism. But if North Korea retaliated, it could drag both Koreas—and America, due to his alliance with South—into another war. Things had been so tense between the two Koreas in the past year. There was no telling what would happen.

And his second reaction, of course, had been disappointment. The World Conference was always held in December, so the nations could get their affairs in order for the year ahead, and plan their end-of-the-year celebrations with other nations once business was done. Christmas was one of America's favorite holidays, and obviously he didn't want to miss it! He and Canada and England and France and sometimes more of their relatives usually got together for a couple of days of celebrations and general hijinks. It would break his heart to miss it, but this sounded serious…

"I wonder why my boss didn't call me…" he said quietly. It seemed like something the president would have let him know about.

"Maybe you'll get a call from him later?" Korea suggested. "Maybe he's still deciding if he wants to send someone or not. Or maybe he wanted to wait until you're back in the US to tell you."

"Maybe," America muttered, frowning. The president _did _have a lot of things to worry about. Letting his nation-spirit know about _one _of them could have easily slipped the man's mind. "Well, wait… you mean the North Koreans asked for Americans? Specifically?" he asked, wondering why South didn't just send some guys of his own.

"The North Koreans seem to like you guys better," Korea said, frowning. "Specifically, they asked for the governor of New Mexico. They like him for some reason. And I don't think they'd want a delegation from us when we're the ones they're mad at in the first place anyway."

"But North is always mad at me," America objected. "He makes a huge point of making sure I know he hates me."

Korea shrugged, seeming to lighten up a little since they'd started talking. "Hey, I can't explain the things he does. He'd rather talk to you apparently, but I couldn't tell you why. I don't get him either."

It was then that the waitress showed up with their food. They'd ordered something different than what they'd gotten last time, deciding today on Shepherd's Pie. Alfred poked at the top crusty part with his fork, trying to figure out if England had ever fed him anything like this or not. Korea, on the other hand, dug right in, making a face initially but continuing to eat without a problem after that. After a moment, America joined him, taking a cautious bite out of the crust on top.

As it turned out, the top part was potatoes with some weird spices in it (which must have been what Korea was making a face at). It wasn't bad; it just took a moment to get used to. As he got farther in, there was meat in the middle, which America guessed was mutton based on the name.

After eating a little bit, America decided to ask Korea some questions of his own.

"Speaking of your brother, I talked to him yesterday," he said, gulping down a mouthful of potato crust.

Korea froze with his fork halfway to his mouth and stared at America. "About what?"

"Well," America began, quickly wiping at his face with a napkin, "I was just chillin' in the lobby after my meetings, when suddenly your bro showed up trying to pick a fight. We avoided the fight mostly, but you know what he told me?" He gave Korea a very deliberate stare. "He said you and him got banned from your meetings yesterday because of that fight on the first day. But after lunch yesterday you rushed off because you said you had a conference." He leaned in a little to pressure the Korean. "So, if you were banned from your conferences yesterday, where did you rush off to?"

The Korean's eyebrows knitted together to form that look he always gave America when he was confused and slightly bewildered. Clearly he hadn't expected to be drilled with questions about his afternoon activities of the previous day. Admittedly, America had probably caught him off guard with the question, and he normally didn't speak to the Korean with such a serious tone either.

"Well…" Korea started, hesitantly, like he was thinking of how to piece everything he was about to say together. "Yesterday…I rushed off because…you remember that car that was behind us when I was trying to find a place to park? And you know how when you look in the rearview mirror, sometimes you can see the face of the person in the car behind you? Well, I thought the guy in the car behind us looked a lot like North." His tone changed suddenly as he began speaking faster. "Not that I know for sure that it was or not! But whoever it was didn't look too happy and I didn't want to take the chance. So I got out of there as quick as I could."

After a moment, America nodded, finding the explanation for why he'd rushed off sufficient. He did remember the dark car behind them. Commies probably drove dark cars right? It seemed right anyway. But Korea still hadn't said what he'd done instead of going to a meeting. If he'd been in the lobby, America should have seen him, but he hadn't.

"Okay," he said, eyes still boring into the other. "But what did you do instead of going to a meeting then? I didn't see you anywhere."

Korea seemed to hesitate a little longer this time. "I was talking to your brother."

The corners of America's mouth twitched into a frown. What business would Korea have talking to Matthew?

"To Mattie? About what?"

"Just stuff."

"…What sort of stuff?"

"Just…stuff!"

"Like what?"

"Just stuff about things! It's not important okay?" the Korean snapped, causing America to flinch. It wasn't often that Korea snapped at him, though he seemed to sink down a moment later, regretting the outburst. "Like…what to get you for Christmas and stuff! It's not important! Just stuff!"

Just stuff. That answer didn't satisfy him. It seemed to him that Korea wasn't telling him the full truth. If it had been something he could tell America, he surely would have told him right off. Normally the Korean was itching to tell him everything. If it really was 'just stuff,' he surely would have gone off about the oh-so-interesting conversation he'd had with Canada about video games or food or something like that. But instead, the Korean had sounded defensive. What reason would he have to hide what he'd been talking about with Canada of all people?

"You're sure?" he asked again, not really expecting anything more but figuring it was worth a shot.

"I'm positive," Korea answered, deciding once more that his food was a much safer thing for his eyes to look at than America. It was clear America wasn't going to get any more answers out of him today. Maybe talking to Matthew would give him better results.

"A-anyway…" Korea continued, taking one last bite of his Shepherd's Pie and washing it down with a gulp of water. "If your boss does decide to send you, we can do our gift exchange before you go see North. That will be okay, right?" He looked a little guilty bringing it up again. "I'm really sorry. If you do end up going, you might be there over Christmas."

"No, it's fine," America responded, though he was still feeling a bit disappointed about it. He'd just have to keep reminding himself that world peace was more important that his individual plans. "And yes, that would work. I'd like to see what Christmas is like in your country. Do many people celebrate it there?"

"Some," Korea said simply. "More than you'd think."

"Mm…" America simply nodded his response.

For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence.

"Um…" Korea arranged what food was left in the dish with his fork so that it lined the sides of the dish, perhaps to make it look like he hadn't actually left as much as he had. "We should probably go. Do you have evening conferences today?"

"Yeah, I do… We should get going."

The two of them paid and made their way back out to the car through the chill air of the city of London. Even as they rode back to the conference center with the upbeat sound of K-pop blasting from the speakers, America still couldn't help feeling uneasy about the day's events and those to come.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

After the shelling of Yeonpyeong Island and amid rising tensions due to planned military drills by South Korea, North Korea actually did request to speak to New Mexico governor Bill Richardson, who was invited to the country by North Korea's Minister of Foreign Affairs Kim Kye Gwan.


	6. Flights

**Chapter 6**

After that, the whole week seemed to blur together. If the meetings Alfred had attended earlier in the week had been boring, then these were like watching grass grow. They seemed slower, longer, and far less progressive than any he'd been to prior to that. No one was willing to budge. Few were willing to make deals. He might as well have not attended, because his presence didn't seem to make any of the meetings move along or solve anything as it was.

He saw little of Yong Soo for the rest of the week. Once or twice they passed each other in the hall, and though Yong Soo would smile at Alfred as he walked by, Alfred had a feeling he was smiling simply to maintain a level of friendliness. The Korean's eyes didn't shine the way they usually did when he smiled, and his eyebrows knitted together the way they did when he was worried. Even Alfred, who was notorious for not being able to read people, could tell it was fake.

North Korea also seemed to decide not to bother him anymore, because the one time Alfred had managed to spot him after his talk with China, the Korean scurried away before Alfred had a chance to talk to him.

When Alfred at last left the final meeting of the week, it was a big burden lifted from his shoulders. At least, for a while, he could stop worrying about meetings between nations whose problems he would be little help in fixing. For a while. He still had a long flight back to Washington in the morning, a day or two of jet lag, and of course, a talk with the President about the issue of North Korea.

Out of all the nights after the conferences, it was probably the best night of sleep he'd gotten. After taking a quick shower and watching a little television, Alfred climbed into bed and fell right asleep. It was a good thing too, as he suspected he'd be suffering many sleepless nights in the near future.

He awoke sometime around 9:00am, nearly fully rested though he had a feeling he'd be a bit mentally fatigued from all the meetings for at least a few days. With his flight back to the States leaving around 1:45pm (nonstop, arriving in Baltimore at 5:20pm), he had plenty of time to pack up, check out, and grab some lunch before heading over to the airport.

It took him maybe a half hour to pack up all his things. He still had an hour to kill, but he quickly grew bored with British television and pulled out his phone. Normally, he would have called Yong Soo, but Alfred had a feeling the Korean wouldn't really want to talk to him. Maybe there was someone else nearby that he could hang out with for about an hour.

One of the first people to appear on his contacts list was Arthur Kirkland. America smiled. Perfect. Arthur might still be nearby, helping to clean up after the conferences. Alfred pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear.

After four rings, Arthur answered.

"What do you want?" he griped into the phone before Alfred even had a chance to greet him.

"Good morning to you too, Arthur," Alfred answered, rolling his eyes. "Where are you?"

"Why do you want to know?" the Englishman demanded hotly. Alfred could almost see him tapping his foot impatiently on the other end of the line.

"I wanted to know if I could come hang out with you for a while. I'm bored and we don't see each other as much as we used t-"

"I'm busy," Arthur said flatly. "Busy cleaning up the mess you and all the other delegates left at the conference center. And I have a meeting with London officials in an hour."

"...You wanna take a break? Just for a few minutes?" Alfred asked hopefully. It always seemed like Arthur was too busy for him. It was the way their relationship had been for a long time. When he wasn't rearing a childish American in the New World, he'd been busy raising an empire elsewhere. Though his empire was long gone, Arthur still seemed to always find a reason to not see him.

"I'm busy," Arthur repeated, not to the American's surprise. "Don't you have a plane to catch or something?"

"Not yet. Can't I just come over there and help you clean up or something? I've got an hour."

There was a short pause. Maybe Arthur had actually considered for a moment that it would be nice to see Alfred cleaning up after not only himself, but other people as well. But in the end, he decided he'd rather not deal with the American. "You would just get over here and then you'd have to leave. I wouldn't want you to miss your flight."

"Because you just want me gone that bad?" Alfred teased into the phone, smiling a little.

He could hear Arthur give a little amused snort on the other end. "Yes. Obviously."

"I know you don't hate me that much."

"No," Arthur conceded, and Alfred could almost see him shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "I never have. You just have a rather unfortunate habit of annoying me, oh...all the damn time."

"So sorry!"

"Oh, I know you are."

Alfred caught himself grinning. "All right, then. Some other time?"

"Perhaps."

Well, that was better than a flat out 'no'.

"Fine. You have fun cleaning up then, ya hear?"

"Oh, I will. Go catch your flight."

"Bye, Cranky."

"Bye, Twat." Then he hung up.

Alfred glanced at the clock. Only 10 o'clock. He'd probably leave for the airport in about forty-five minutes. By now it almost wasn't worth going to meet anybody. At least he'd killed some time talking to Arthur.

Well, it was better to be safe than sorry. Making sure all his belongings were in order, he went to check out of the hotel. At least he would definitely have enough time to get to the airport.

As it turned out, leaving earlier had been a better idea than he'd thought. Traffic ended up being heavier than he'd expected, and being unaccustomed to driving on the left side of the road always made his driving experience in England that much worse.

He made it to the airport right on time though, and successfully returned his rental car, had a quick, early lunch, and got through security with time to spare.

Soon enough he was on his flight home. By no means was it one of the longest flights he'd ever been on, but it certainly seemed that way. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he'd slept so well the night before and couldn't pass the time by sleeping as a result.

It was about 5:00pm in Baltimore when the plane landed. Sighing, America remembered he'd have to adjust to the time difference again. It took him about 20 minutes to find his luggage on the carousel, and he probably spent another hour or so in line at customs.

Finally, he was ready to leave. By now, his head was beginning to throb with the beginnings of a headache. He felt like his vision was beginning to close in, his thoughts getting cloudier as he grew too tired to process what he was seeing. Beyond customs were several people standing around with signs. At first, he couldn't find one with his name, and it was only after the man with a sign labeled 'Alfred' came up to him that Alfred noticed him and recognized him as a White House attendant.

"Are you ready?" the man asked, folding the sign under his arm. Alfred felt a tug of guilt, because though he recognized the man as a White House attendant, he could not remember his name. Maybe he was already feeling the effects of jetlag.

"Ready to get home," he answered, falling in step behind the attendant as he turned to lead Alfred out of the airport. "Let's go."

Rush hour traffic between Baltimore and Washington was absolutely awful that night. Alfred wasn't sure what time it was when they arrived at the White House, but he was pretty beyond caring. He didn't actually live in the White House with the president - at least not most of the time - but because he ended up spending a lot of his time there, he had a fully equipped room on one of the upper levels. His usual residence was a manor in Pennsylvania, though he had some kind of residence in each of the fifty states. Since obviously he wasn't going to be going anywhere else tonight, he thanked the attendant who'd driven him home, trudged up to his room with his luggage, and fell asleep on the bed without even bothering to unpack.

A pair of big, brown eyes were staring back at him when he awoke the next morning. He pulled back in surprise, and the eyes' owner giggled.

"Good morning, Alfred!" a girl's voice chimed. "Daddy wants you."

"Ugghn," the nation groaned, rolling over and hiding his face back under the covers. "What for?"

"To talk about stuff," the girl replied, sitting back a little now so that she wasn't so close to him. "He didn't say exactly. He just asked me to wake you up."

"Ohmmmf," Alfred mumbled sleepily into the sheets before finally raising his head to peer at the girl. "Thanks..."

"You're welcome. Just make sure you get up."

"'Kay..."

After the girl left, Alfred lay in bed for a few more minutes, savoring its warm embrace before finally hauling himself up and putting on some proper clothes (he was still wearing what he'd worn on the plane the day before).

Though whatever the president wanted to talk to him about could have been any number of things, Alfred knew good and well it would be primarily about the past week's conferences. Then another thought occurred to him. If this meeting with North Korea was really going to be as soon as Yong Soo had said, then it was probably something the president would want to speak to him about as well. Unsure whether it would be just the president or other officials too, Alfred dressed in business casual, pulling on some slacks and a button up shirt, knowing fully that it would be the other officials who would disapprove of poor attire rather than the president, who by now was used to seeing Alfred wandering around the White House in pajamas.

When he got to the office, it was empty except for the president, who sat on one of the couches, scribbling away at something on a clipboard. It would appear Alfred had made the right dress decision, because the president was dressed similarly to how he was – simply, in just a button up shirt and some slacks.

Alfred knocked on the doorframe but proceeded to walk in before the president even had a chance to look up. "Knock, knock."

"Good morning, Alfred," the president said, glancing up from his work for just a moment to acknowledge the nation's presence before looking down at his clipboard again. "How was London?"

"It was fine," Alfred answered, taking a seat on the couch across from him.

"Reach any agreements?"

"A few."

The president seemed to sense that the conferences hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped. "A week's not quite long enough, is it?"

"Not for that many conferences, it's not."

"Ah." For a moment, they sat in silence, Alfred watching as the president continued scribbling away. A moment later, he set the clipboard off to the side and gave his nation his full attention.

For a while, they just talked about what agreements _had _been reached. It was customary for the nations to reach a (theoretical) consensus among themselves, then relay whatever the decisions had been back to their bosses. If the leaders agreed, the arrangements could then become permanent. As for the meetings where no consensus had been reached, Akfred simply told his boss how the other nations had felt about what, and under what conditions a consensus might be reached. It was a method that didn't always solve problems, but it allowed the president to get a better idea of how the other nations felt without having to personally visit the leaders of all of them.

Finally, the president asked: "Did you speak to South Korea?"

"Yes."

"You got those trade agreements sorted out?"

"Yes. I'll bring you those notes later when I bring the others."

The president nodded. "I received a message from President Lee while you were gone. Did South Korea relay it to you?"

"They're going ahead with the drills," Alfred answered, frowning. "And he also told me the North Koreans wanted to speak with us."

"Yes..." The president nodded. "Specifically, they wanted to talk to Bill Richardson of New Mexico. That is encouraging, at least, because it shows they're beginning to take an interest in talking with the US, finally. Though, they still won't talk to South Korea alone. Are you okay with going?"

Alfred nodded. He didn't feel like he had much room to say no. If there was something he could do to keep more violence from happening in Korea, he felt like he had to do it. "Of course. Who else will be going?"

"Mr. Richardson, of course," the president began, looking up to the ceiling as if searching his mind for the list. "Tony Namkung, some advisors, and a few journalists."

"Journalists?" Alfred resisted the urge to groan. It seemed like every time journalists went to North Korea, Alfred had to make a-whole-nother trip to bring them out.

The president seemed to read his thoughts. "I know. But you know how they insist on being in on everything."

Alfred leaned back in his seat and tilted his head up towards the ceiling, giving a long, frustrated sigh. "This is going to make everything more complicated..."

"Just keep an eye on them. Don't let them leave the group for anything."

Despite that advice, both of them knew that was _far _easier said than done. At least, he though, whatever North Koreans were assigned to be their handlers would be at least _some _help in keeping nosy journalists in line.

"Did you get a chance to speak to North Korea about this at all?"

Oh. It occurred to Alfred that the president probably hadn't heard about his little scuff with the North Korean. Or China's stiff warnings. Or the fact that he was a little more nervous talking to either Korea afterwards.

"Not really." Alfred twined his fingers together in his lap. "Kind of hard to hold a conversation with the guy."

"I see..." the president eyed him thoughtfully. "We'll just have to hope that gets fixed before you go off to speak with him in his own country."

"Yeah..."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. Perhaps, Alfred thought, the president didn't expect much to come of this trip. Maybe to him it was all a waste of time. Maybe he didn't think there was any hope of easing tensions in Korea and that some kind of violent outbreak was inevitable. It was possible the whole thing was nothing more than a political move to him - something to make it look like the US had tried to do something even though nothing could actually be done. And maybe there was some truth to that. Maybe even the North Koreans didn't think there was a diplomatic solution and simply wanted to make it look like they'd tried diplomacy before resorting to violence. But why, then, had they requested to talk to the United States instead of South Korea? Because they knew no one expected breakthroughs from a North-South talk anyway? Did they think the rest of the world somehow saw a North Korea-US as more promising?

"So, when exactly will I be leaving, then?" Alfred asked, forcing himself to put speculation aside and think a bit more positively.

"We've been told December 14th," the president responded, "But that could change."

America felt his spirits lift a little. Surely they wouldn't be gone for more than a week? That meant there was a chance he'd be home for Christmas.

_If we're not at war, _he reminded himself sternly. "How long will we be there?"

"Well, keep in mind Mr. Richardson is officially in charge of this trip. The North Koreans asked for him, and though we've approved him to go, my administration and I have nothing to do with the itinerary."

"So...do you know how long it is?"

"I believe Mr. Richardson has told us six days, but as I said...that can change if he decides to leave early or stay longer. I'm sure Mr. Richardson will send you more information when the time nears."

Alfred was silent, now studying his knees as he let this all sink in. Talking about when and where this trip would be made it seem that much more real. And to make it worse, every time Alfred pictured North Korea, all he could see was the man's dark eyes boring into him. Unforgiving and cold. And he couldn't imagine how on earth any number of meetings would achieve anything. But he had to remain optimistic.

"Right, then," he muttered, directing his eyes back to the president, who was already looking back to his clipboard for the next topic of discussion.

"So, about that agreement with China..."

In the days leading up to the trip, Alfred tried to think as little about it as possible. In case he didn't come back, he thought, he ought to give some of his states one last visit. It wasn't possible to visit all 50, obviously, but he did manage to visit a few nearby. Maybe he actually was afraid the delegation would somehow get stuck in North Korea, or maybe he just wanted to relax, but either way, the brief visits did manage to calm his nerves.

On his final free day before the departure, he made a trip to the Pennsylvania countryside for some hiking. Though the famous autumn foliage had already fallen, just being back in nature was very relaxing to him. The fast pace of city life disappeared, and sometimes he felt like he might even be able to forget who he was - that he _was _the United States of America, that he felt when his people suffered, or could almost buckle under the weight of international stress. What must it feel like to be a normal human, he wondered? Some days he felt like, if he had the option to become a normal human, he would. But then who would do his job? He was aware that his actions as a nation affected not just his own people, but people around the world. His actions touched many - hopefully for the better - even if they'd never know. And it was that that made him believe his nationhood was a position he would never give up, even if he could.

He spent one last night in the Pennsylvania manor, and then it was off to the airport. The flight would connect in Los Angeles, then it would be straight to Beijing, and from there, another flight to Pyongyang. Alfred, though he'd spoken with Mr. Richardson prior to boarding the flight, couldn't help but wonder how prepared he (or any of the other delegates, for that matter) were for this. As he took his seat near the window of the plane, he could only hope the man knew what he was doing.


	7. Entering Prison

I'm so sorry for the wait! ;_; Until recently I've been caught up in band stuff, and when that ended I was out of town for a few days, then got back this week and had AP tests to contend with. Thankfully, my school year is drawing to a close so hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently. Once again, sorry for the wait! Thank you those of you who have stuck with me until now!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

When the plane landed, the sun was setting on the city of Beijing. It didn't seem to matter that it was almost nightfall—the airport was just as packed as it would have been any other part of the day. Fighting through the crowd, the delegation followed the signs (which, luckily, had English subtitles) and made their way to baggage claim.

After some scrambling to make sure everyone got their bags before they could be carried away by the conveyor belt, they were all set to wait in the long line to get through the security checkpoint. America desperately wished there were benches or something to sit on, because the line moved incredibly slowly and he was getting tired of standing. It was all horribly inconvenient! On the plane he'd been tired of sitting, and now he was standing but couldn't really move or he'd lose his spot in line. And he had a feeling Mr. Richardson would scold him if he just sat down on the floor right there.

It took a couple of hours, but when they finally got past the checkpoint, they located a driver who had been arranged for them and all piled into a taxi-van. The hotel they'd be spending the night in wasn't too far from the airport, but the traffic was awful and it took them at least another hour to get there. By the time they finally arrived, it was well past sunset.

Mr. Richardson and the rest of the delegation were to go for a quick interview with the journalist, Mr. Blitzer, who was accompanying them on the trip, but America was dismissed up to his room. Luckily—since they didn't want the journalist learning too much about Alfred's nation identity—Alfred was being allowed to stay in his own room, and the journalist had been told that he was simply another official sent to document the trip. A very young official…but he seemed to be buying it so far. The fact that America got his own room just allowed him a bit more privacy from prying eyes.

While the others were out for the interview, America took his stuff up to his room and flopped down on the bed. It seemed like he'd been spending a lot of time in hotels lately. Hadn't it been just a week or two ago that he'd been at the World Conference, lying in a hotel bed while he tried to work out South Korea's odd behavior? Funny how it all came full circle. Now he sat on the bed staring up at the ceiling—no longer trying to figure out what was making Korea act strangely, but how to fix the problems that caused him to act so. He kicked off his shoes, and let his mind wander.

Of course, one of the first things that came to his mind was whether or not North Korea's request to talk had even been sincere. Sure, maybe the North Koreans had requested to talk to Americans, but that didn't mean North Korea_ himself _had wanted to. That would explain why the Korean had never brought it up to him at the Conferences. It was entirely possible that it was some strategic ploy meant to make the North Koreans look better and that North could care less one way or the other how these talks went. But still, there was always the possibility that _he _was the one who had wanted them and had somehow managed to convince his boss that they would be beneficial. Maybe he'd just been too proud to bring it up to America himself and had let his own officials handle it instead. There would be no real way of knowing until the time finally came when America and the Korean would talk alone.

After a while, he decided the thoughts were a bit too troubling and that maybe some TV would help him calm down. There were no channels in English, but he could understand more or less what was being said, even in Chinese. Of all the languages he'd tried to learn, Chinese was especially difficult, but he was getting a better hold on it with every day that he practiced. After a while, he found that his brain was too tired and jet-lagged to translate anything that was being said and that he'd just been staring at the screen, not comprehending, for a while. What time was it anyway? The clock next to his bed said 11:32, but it didn't feel that late. He was tired, sure, but his body was still running on Pennsylvania time. What time was it there now? He was too lazy to try and calculate.

There was a sound of footsteps from the hallway, and he guessed Mr. Richardson and the others must be finished with their interview. He could hear doors opening and closing, and then suddenly, a knock on his own. Swinging his feet out over the side of the bed and onto the floor, America went to answer.

Mr. Richardson greeted him with a smile and reminded him to be ready in the lobby by 8 o' clock the next morning. When America asked if the interview had gone well, Mr. Richardson said it had. The questions were all basic: "How are you feeling?" "Are you nervous about this trip?" "What's on your mind right now?" He didn't think Mr. Blitzer would pose too much of a problem to the delegation, supposing he didn't accidently take pictures of something he wasn't supposed to when they arrived in North Korea. It was the best they could hope for anyway.

After a quick briefing on what they'd be doing in the morning, Mr. Richardson bid him goodnight.

After Mr. Richardson left, America went back to his bed, flopped down on it, stripped down to his underwear, and reached over to turn off the lamp. Might as well try and get some sleep anyway. If something went wrong in the next week, it might be the last full night of sleep he can get for a while.

The North Korean embassy complex in Beijing took up a whole block. The property was surrounded by a barbed wire fence, and where there wasn't a fence, there was a wall. Giant trees growing behind the walls and fences made the buildings themselves a bit difficult to see. There was a gate on one side, guarded by a uniformed man. As they drove up, America got the impression that they were approaching a prison rather than a building meant for diplomacy.

The driver pulled up to a booth next to one of the gates and spoke to the man inside in rapid Chinese. A moment later, a metal gate was opened—and behind that, another larger wooden, ornate gate— to allow the delegation's van through. As soon as the van was through, the gates slid shut behind them.

Despite the entire city of Beijing looming just outside, it did feel a bit like entering another world. View of the street was obstructed by the wall that surrounded the complex, and the farther in they went, the more the trees hid the buildings outside the complex from view. The embassy building itself wasn't really anything special. Yellow brick, maybe four or five stories tall, and shaped like—well, a rectangle—it was pretty average as far as buildings went. Atop it flew the red and blue of the North Korean flag.

The van pulled into a circle drive at the front of the building and the driver gestured for them to step out. Some kind of official waited for them outside and greeted them amiably, giving a small bow. America saw Mr. Richardson give a little bow back, so America gave one too, and when he glanced up, he was happy to see that the rest of the delegation had stopped to give one as well. A moment later, the official led them inside.

They were told to wait in a lobby area for a moment while he went to retrieve their visas. The lobby was fairly nice, if not a bit of a culture shock. Paintings of the North Korean leaders decorated the walls and a few wall scrolls hung here and there. If it had been of any other culture, it might not have seemed so odd to look at. But the fact that the North Korean leader's personality cult seemed to follow him even to his embassies around the world was a little disturbing. America shouldn't have been so surprised by it really—of course the embassies were going to have some national pride—but he was.

The man returned with the visas and some other papers that each of the seven delegates was required to fill out. About fifteen minutes later, they left the building with their visas in hand.

As they left the walled complex, America realized that he was, in essence, leaving a little piece of North Korea. Just a single block in the middle of Beijing managed to look so much like a prison—of course North Korea itself would be much worse.

A few hours later, they were on Air Koryo, the official North Korean airline to Pyongyang. That's what they'd been told, anyway. Did North Korea even allow other airlines to fly into the country, America wondered? You certainly never heard of any other direct flights into North Korea. They always left from and returned directly to Beijing. Air Koryo was probably the _only _airline.

It wasn't a long flight at all. America wasn't keeping track, but it couldn't have been more than about two hours. When they landed, it was late afternoon. The sun was beginning to sink towards the North Korean mountains on the horizon.

Almost as soon as they stepped off the plane, they were introduced to their handlers. There were two of them, and they would be overseeing all of the delegates' activities during their time here. Guiding them. Answering their questions. Watching them. One of them, Kang Dae, was surprisingly tall and looked pretty well built. Definitely the body guard sort of type. America mentally added _guarding them_ to his list. The other handler, Ki Young, wasn't quite as tall and seemed thinner. Neither of them looked any older than about 35, but America couldn't be too sure.

They had their passports and visas checked, and were then led into a room inside the airport where their phones were confiscated. They wouldn't need them, they were told. The probably wouldn't pick up on North Korean service. _Or they just don't want us calling home. _America thought gravely, and he handed over his phone. There went his connection to the outside world.

He hadn't noticed it until he left the room, but now a small gathering of people with cameras had begun to follow them. Was this…the North Korean version of the paparazzi? Some of them were shouting things at them in a mixture of Korean and broken English, and the ones that reached America's ears more clearly began to translate as:

"_Mr. Richardson! Look this way!"_

"_You there! Can I get a picture?"_

"_Do you have something to say for the camera?"_

Yep, just like the American paparazzi. America kept on walking, pretending that he couldn't understand them. If they got the idea he could speak any Korean at all, they probably wouldn't leave them alone. Already Mr. Nankung had turned to one of the photographers and politely asked him to wait a moment—he'd let him have a picture later— but now that the rest of the photographers had discovered they were being understood by him, he was getting far more attention than the rest of them. Even Mr. Blitzer, the journalist, seemed a little bewildered. He had his camera out and was filming, though he spoke to no one. Finally, Mr. Richardson had them stop, pose as a group for a few pictures, and then asked Ki Young in English if he could get the photographers to back off.

The Korean considered for a moment, apologized, and explained that they just needed something to run on state television tonight. They would leave them alone when they had what they needed. It seemed like a snarky response, but America could tell he was being (at least mostly) truthful. If he was supposed to let the paparazzi do what they wanted, then…that was what he was supposed to do.

After a few more minutes of them rolling cameras and snapping pictures though, he finally did get them to back off. Ki Young and Kang Dae then led them to a room to pick up their luggage, which had been removed from the plane for them, and then took them out into the parking lot to load up in a couple of minivans.

Outside, the sky had grown darker and the remaining sunlight filtered through a layer of gray clouds. The air was moist, but cold. America got the feeling it had probably rained recently. The pavement of the parking lot, even in the dim light, looked wet. The rest of the parking lot was mostly empty, except for a small scattering of cars and two minivans parked away from the rest of the vehicles, obviously meant for them.

When they got there, North was waiting.

He'd been speaking to one of the drivers when they'd arrived, but he turned to watch them as they approached now. He was wearing a long dark coat and gloves, which looked very comfortable right about now. A chill wind was blowing in from the north, and America had simply stuffed his hands in his pockets, having left his gloves in his luggage. They'd only been outside for a few minutes, but already his face was beginning to sting with the cold.

America greeted North with a smile. "What's up, dude? I didn't expect you to be here at the airport." He held out his hand for the Korean to shake, but he half-doubted he'd actually accept the offer.

To his surprise, the Korean hesitated, glanced at the other people gathered, and seemed to decide diplomacy was better for the moment. He grasped America's hand firmly, but didn't seem too enthusiastic about shaking it. America had a feeling the other people on the delegation and Mr. Blitzer's still-rolling camera were the only things that had persuaded him to shake with him.

"I'm only being a good host," the Korean said, his expression unchanged. "What kind of host doesn't greet his guests?"

Well, he was attempting to be hospitable anyway. For the moment.

"Well, thanks," America said uncertainly, not quite sure how he was supposed to respond to such a defensive statement. "I'm glad you came, anyway."

"Hm."

Okay. So the Korean wasn't too keen on talking to him, it seemed. Maybe he hadn't been the one who'd wanted the Americans to come. Based on how he was acting, it was pretty likely that it was all his leaders and that this was all just a strategic ploy. Maybe North showing up at the airport to greet them was just a part of his orders. Now, as America was beginning to realize, that reality upset him a little. He wanted to help. He wanted everything that went on in the next week to be sincere. He wanted to have the talks and come to agreements and _make things right. _It was a lot to ask for, but he thought it could be done if they were all on the same page.

And 'on the same page' meant the Korean was going to have to show a bit more enthusiasm.

Mr. Richardson and the others were talking with the handlers as the drivers loaded up their baggage in the back of the vans. No one was paying attention to the nations for the moment. His curiosity had been piqued. Now he had to ask.

Leaning in, he dropped his voice almost to a whisper. "So, did _you_ want to talk to Americans? Or did your boss?"

The Korean's face registered confusion. "…What?"

"Did_ you_ ask for us to come? Or are you just going along with it because it's what your boss wants? I want to know."

North's brows knitted together as he considered the question. No doubt he was trying to figure out what America's motives were, and what the consequences might be for either answer. A chill wind picked up once more, and America pulled his jacket tighter around him as he waited for an answer.

"It doesn't matter," North said finally, sticking his hands in the pockets of his coat. "You're here. That's all that matters."

"It does matter! That doesn't answer my question!" America protested, growing frustrated. "I want to know if—"

"Alfred!" Mr. Richardson called. Several car doors slammed shut behind him as the rest of the delegates loaded into the vans. "We need to go."

America looked back to North Korea, almost expecting to see some sort of triumphant look on the other's face, since he'd gotten out of giving him a direct answer. But there was nothing. He was still looking at him with the same dark eyes, almost bored.

"Just go," he said, giving him a dismissive wave of his hand. Clearly their conversation was over. "I will talk to you in the morning."

America sighed, but he wasn't quite ready to give up yet. "I'm coming!" he called back to Mr. Richardson. As soon as the other man was in the van, he turned back to the Korean. The cameras were gone. The people were gone. As long as their voices were soft enough, they could talk freely for a moment. He moved in a little closer, speaking quickly.

"Look. I want to help you, okay? I know things aren't going so well for you right now. I want to help. But you have to cooperate. No bullshit. This is a two-way street. If you wanna be a world player, you have to act like one. I'm not going to just hand things to you and neither is your brother. But I really do want to help you, okay? Don't just assume everybody's out to get you."

The Korean narrowed his eyes, and suddenly America got the feeling that maybe something he said had offended him. "I don't assume—"

One of the minivans started behind them. Their time was almost up.

"We just have to work on this together, okay?" America said again. Man. He didn't want to sound like he was pleading with the North Korean or something, but he really wanted all of this to turn out okay. The last thing they needed was a second Korean War, and with South Korean warships along with his own lining up to basically show how badly they could potentially blast North Korea out of the water, the more likely that prospect was looking. And it would really be nice if they could just get along in general. To get along during the next week especially would be very important.

He waited a moment to see if North was going to answer him, but he just stood there, staring at him silently with those dark eyes.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," America said, feeling a little awkward at the lack of response. He clapped a hand on the other's shoulder, hoping that somehow, it would be interpreted as a sign of friendship. "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight," the Korean muttered, and turned to go back inside the airport.

America got into one of the vans, grateful, at least, that it was warm inside. His face was flushed from the cold, stinging, though it eventually began to warm up in the air of the van. His conversation with North Korea hadn't gone very well, and he knew that. For one, it hadn't been much of a conversation, since he did most of the talking. But it hadn't ended in insults or an argument, so it was a start at least. Maybe the Korean would go home tonight and think about some of the things he'd said. Then again, maybe he was being too optimistic.

As the vans pulled out of the parking lot, the first snowflakes began to fall.

* * *

><p>Author's notes:<p>

For those curious, much of this is based off the trip to North Korea taken by Bill Richardson in late 2010 to help relieve Korean tensions following the bombardment of Yeonpyong. I believe I mentioned that on the last update, but if anyone is interested in learning more about that particular trip or North Korea in general, you can watch the documentary "Six Days in North Korea" on YouTube.


	8. Snow

**Chapter 8**

By morning, snow clung to the branches of trees and the ledges of buildings. It accumulated in the crevices of the roofs and statues. No effort had yet been made to clear the wide, empty streets, leaving them as open expanses of white. The sun peeked through the clouds every now and then, glistening off the new fallen snow. Any grime that might have been there was hidden. The whole city seemed clean and pristine.

It all seemed very surreal. From his seat by the window in the van, America could see every detail of the North Korea capital. Giant murals portraying brave North Korean soldiers and patriotic citizens had been painted on almost every corner. There were statues of the North Korean leaders everywhere. Propaganda posters the size of billboards hung from the sides of eerily similar buildings. The streets were wide—much wider than the average street in the States—but oddly, the minivans were among only a few cars on them, even after they'd entered a portion of the city where the streets had been cleared. Once, they passed a line of soldiers marching—yes, marching—through several inches of snow. Practically identical buildings lined the streets, their windows dark.

But by far the most striking was the silence.

The drivers pulled the vans to a stop in front of an unmarked building. When America stepped out, not so much as a birdsong reached his ears. There was no sound of traffic, no human voices. None of the sounds you would typically expect in a capital city. Even the wind was still. It was dead silent, even the scuffle of his shoes on the ground muffled by the surrounding snow.

Mr. Blitzer filmed the scene with a handheld camera as the rest of the delegation unloaded. Once everyone was out, their handlers led them inside.

A variety of officials met them just inside the door, greeting Mr. Richardson and Mr. Nankung amiably in Korean . Everybody shook hands as a couple of translators went to work decoding the greetings for each respective party. Someone tapped America on the shoulder.

There were those dark eyes again.

"Good morning, American," North Korea said, giving a small bow, though he didn't seem too happy about it.

"I have a name, you know," America objected, frowning. "I mean, I know I'm America and all, but you need to loosen up. Stop being so stiff. Just call me Alfred. We have a guy here who's not supposed to know who I am anyway."

That seemed to pique the Korean's interest. "Which one?" he asked, seemingly ignoring America's request to be called by his human name.

He cocked his head toward Mr. Blitzer, who was still filming as the delegations greeted each other.

"Journalist?" North Korea asked again, eyeing the man with intrigue.

America hesitated. He knew all the awful stories about journalists being kidnapped and sent to prisons in North Korea just for reporting there. Mr. Blitzer had been given permission as long as he was with the Richardson delegation, but America wasn't sure how comfortable he was pointing out that he was the journalist.

North spoke again before he could confirm or deny though. "He'll have to go."

That sounded a lot more threatening than it was probably meant to. "Why?" America questioned. "He's not hurting anything. He's just holding a camera."

"He can't stay for the meeting," North insisted. "It's private. Important business. He's got to go." And he promptly turned and got the attention of one of the handlers, spoke to him quickly in Korean, motioning to Mr. Blitzer and his camera, before turning back to America.

"So what's he supposed to do while we're in there then?" America wasn't worried about Mr. Blitzer getting bored, so much. More he was worried that the Koreans might try and do something to him while they weren't looking, like take him off somewhere and interrogate him.

"He'll wait out here with Kang Dae," was North's answer, tilting his head in the direction of the handler he'd just spoken to. Great, the bigger, body guard-looking handler. He didn't feel comfortable leaving poor Mr. Blitzer out here with him alone.

"No," America answered flatly. "No, I'm not letting him stay out here alone with you Koreans." Okay, maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. North looked offended.

"So pick someone to stay out here with him then," North suggested, voice tense.

"I'll stay."

"No. You and I need to talk. Alone."

Geez, what was it with North and this 'alone' stuff? Suddenly America had a horrible thought that maybe he was trying to separate the members of the delegation and pick them off one by one! But that sounded like something out of a horror movie. Despite how North Korea was easily the creepiest country he'd been to, America didn't think that could be right. The Koreans were just overly paranoid.

"Hold that thought," he replied tersely before turning on his heel and stalking off to find Mr. Richardson, the one person who might have some power over this situation. He could feel North's eyes burning into the back of his head.

He hated to interrupt, but in a brief pause in his conversation with one of the North Korean officials, America caught Mr. Richardson's attention and pulled him aside a few steps. "They want Mr. Blitzer to stay out here all alone with the big guard," America complained, almost feeling like a small child tattling on a bully.

"I know," Mr. Richardson replied, acting like there was no problem with this at all. "That is what we agreed upon."

"What?" America was almost shocked that this was being allowed. "_No one _else is staying out here with him? You're not afraid the Koreans will drag him off and do something to him while we're gone?"

"They won't," Mr. Richardson insisted. "It'll be fine, Alfred."

"How do you know?"

"They have bigger things to worry about right now. They won't do something that would cause another international crisis while in the midst of trying to solve one."

America remained defiantly silent, unsure whether he was willing to accept that answer.

"He'll be fine, Alfred. Just relax. We're about to start."

Unsatisfied, America turned around to go back to North, only to find the Korean right behind him, not quite smiling but looking triumphant nonetheless. "Are you ready, American?"

"Alfred," America huffed, sweeping past the Korean towards the room he presumed they'd be meeting in—but North reached out and snagged his coat before he could get more than a few steps.

"I told you—we're meeting separately," North scolded, tugging America back towards him.

The American met his gaze with a pout. "Fine! Fine! Lead the way then."

Releasing his grip on the American's coat, he turned—towards the door—and motioned for America to follow him.

America looked at him in near horror. No way was he going outside! It was freezing! And what reason would they have to go outside? This building was huge. There was no way there wasn't 'room' for them somewhere in here.

He stumbled a few steps to catch up, just as the Korean opened the door, letting in a cold draft and causing America to flinch. "Hey, wait! What are you doing? Why are we going outside?"

North glanced at the American over his shoulder. "Too cold for you?" he sneered, moving to hold the door wide open for America. "Don't be a baby. Come on."

And of course, as soon as he put it that way, America was grudgingly following along.

A few steps from the building, he asked again, "You didn't answer my question. Why are we going outside?"

"Because this is nation business," North responded after they were sufficiently out of earshot of the building. Suddenly it occurred to America that that might be the sole reason they were outside—less chance of being overheard. "None of them need to know what we're talking about yet. I'm sure we'll be more productive on our own anyway."

"_You?" _America asked skeptically. "_You_ want to be productive? Or are you just saying that?"

"I want to be productive," North affirmed, leading them towards an area where the sidewalk had not yet been cleared. Geez! Was he just trying to make America miserable by leading him out in the cold and then to an area where they would have to tromp through snow and slush? Maybe he was actually serious about being productive and this was his way of making up for it—making things difficult for the American in another way instead. America followed along in silence for what seemed like much too long, treading carefully to avoid getting his shoes full of water.

After a few blocks, North turned and began to walk out into the middle of the street—one of the super wide, super empty North Korean highways, still full of snow. Perplexed, America spoke up. "Where are you taking us? Why are we crossing the street?"

North ignored the question, instead just looking back to give America an annoyed look. With no other option, America simply had to follow.

When they were about halfway across, North stopped. "Here. Now we can talk freely. No one will hear us out here."

So America had been right. The point of the trip _had _been to get them out of earshot. The highway was the perfect place to talk. It was at least as wide as a football field, about fifty yards of empty space on either side of the two nations. It was completely empty, not a single car or even a pedestrian. And there seemed to be little chance of it being cleared any time soon, no workers' crews visible.

"So…what then?" America asked again. "You want to talk about something, obviously. What is it? Did you think about what I said last night?"

"I did."

America was honestly surprised. "…And?"

North spared a quick glance around them to confirm that they were still alone. "I was the one who asked for the Americans."

"Really?" America was surprised. After all that thinking he'd done, he assumed North was just following orders and didn't care how any of this went. But there was still the question of why _North _would ask for the Americans. What was his motive? "Why?"

The Korean hesitated, instead tapping the American's arm and motioning for him to follow once more. This time, he headed straight down the middle of the highway.

"What _now?" _America was growing frustrated with all this moving. "Answer my question!"

"Just come _on!" _North snapped, turning back around to glare at him. "I don't like…standing. Let's walk."

America stomped forward a few steps to catch up with him. "Then tell me _why _you asked for me!"

Before America had quite reached him, North whirled around, scowling at him fiercely. "Let us get something straight, first. _I don't like you. _I didn't ask for _you _to come. I spoke with my leader and he agreed to request a group of Americans. _You _weren't in the plans."

A chill wind blew between them for a moment, lifting a few powdery flakes from the top layer of snow on the road and carrying them across the snowy expanse before them. America stared back at North, surprised by the outburst.

North continued, "Frankly I am surprised you even cared enough to come."

The sunlight faded as a cloud drifted in front of the sun. North turned back around and started to walk again. America followed a moment later. He wasn't really surprised by the other's words so much as he was curious about them.

"Last night," America began slowly, his voice softening as he followed along a few steps behind North. "You said I was here, and that was all that mattered. What did you mean by that if you didn't want me here anyway?"

North walked along in silence for a long time. For a moment, America thought maybe he hadn't heard him over the slowly increasing wind, but finally, he responded. "When I saw you had been added to the delegation list, I thought there might be a chance that you cared what I have to say, and that was the reason you were coming."

"I _do_ care what you have to say," America replied, speeding up a little so that he could fall in step beside the other.

"Don't lie," the Korean glowered at him.

"I'm not!" America promised, pulling his hands out of his pockets for a moment to hold them up in mock surrender. North gave a snort of amusement, like the whole idea that America might actually care was laughable to him. "Why would I lie about that?" America asked.

"You just want me to cooperate for your benefit," North answered. The chill wind blew again, kicking up another gust of powdery snow from the covered street. "You know. So you can tell the world you saved the day from the evil communist nation. What a hero!" He rolled his eyes, disgusted by his own sarcasm. "Like you did with my brother. Like you tried to do with Vietnam."

"No," America objected, offended. "I want you to cooperate for _your _benefit! I really do! I want to help you. I don't want you and South to go to war. I don't want anyone to go to war."

"Coming from you, that's almost insulting. I'd say you start a war in just about every country you try to 'help'."

Ouch. That one really did hit home. Latin American countries upset with his interference. Middle Eastern countries upset with his occupations.

And of course, Korea. A country that had been one, but was no longer.

He sped up a little and took a few steps out in front of North before turning around and stopping, placing a hand on the other's shoulder. The Korean stopped and looked at him questioningly, eyes still burning with fury.

"I really do want to help," he pleaded, giving North's shoulder a light squeeze. "Can't we try and be friends? Just for this week? Then you can go back to hating me if you want, I guess. But I really do want to help you." He searched the other's face for some sign of understanding, but the increasing wind was whipping his dark hair around his face, making it difficult to tell. "I want everyone to be happy. That includes you."

There was a pause, and for a moment, America really did think North was going to listen. But it was a naïve thought—for just a moment later, the Korean shoved his hand off his shoulder with an angry jerk of his arm.

"If you really wanted to help," he hissed, "you would have followed through with your promises from years ago. You remember the Agreed Framework, don't you? Or have you forgotten already? 'Shut down your nuclear reactors and I'll help you out!' you said. _Except you never did_."

"That's because you never shut them down!"

"I wasn't going to do _anything _until I was sure you weren't going to leave me wide open for invasion by South!"

"So you're just going to reject help now when it's offered to you?"

"If the past is any indication, I don't trust you to actually help."

The disappointment was apparent on America's face. "So you've already made up your mind then. If you don't want to trust me, obviously you're never going to. And nothing will ever get better."

North's silence was indication enough—that was exactly the problem.

"Look, it's like I said last night," America continued, watching the other for some sign that his words were getting through to him. "This is a two-way street. I can't just…do it all for you. You have to be willing to listen and compromise just the same as I do. If you're planning from the start to not listen and not budge at all, then nothing is going to get done. You're always gonna be sitting here on your side of the border all cold and lonely because everybody's gonna know that they can't get through to you. If you want me to hear what you have to say, then say it, and I'll try to understand and I'll try to help you. But only if _you _listen to what _I _have to say and try to understand my side of it too. Will you please just give me a chance?"

North dipped his gaze away, apparently unwilling to meet America's eyes.

"Here, uh, how about this?" America took the other's hand (which immediately brought the Korean's gaze up to meet America's in surprise) and shook it eagerly. "Let's start over. Hey there, I'm Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, and I stand for the safety and happiness of all people everywhere." He released the other's hand. "Now it's your turn." He smiled encouragingly.

The Korean hesitated, though he no longer looked upset. Just very confused and maybe a little…wary? The uncertainty showed on his face, like he was trying to decide whether or not to give America his trust.

Finally, he reached for America's hand again and shook it firmly, like he had when America had arrived last night, only this time, it was much more deliberate, like he actually wanted to do it. "Annyeonghaseyo. My name is Im Sang Kyu. North Korea." It was short. Brief. But at least he sounded less hostile this time, like he meant it.

Just as America was about to speak again, another strong gust of wind hit them, blowing with it the pins and needles of new snow, falling fresh from the sky. America braced himself against the wind as another gust blew into them, whistling and biting against his ears, his hand still warmly grasping North's.

"Later," North's voice rose over the wind. "Let's go inside."

Reluctantly, America let the other's fingers slip from his, and followed him towards shelter.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

The Agreed Framework refers to a series of agreements made between North Korea and the United States in late 1994, when the US became worried over North Korea's apparent intention to develop nuclear weapons. The Agreed Framework was signed in October of that year, saying that the DPRK would shut down its indigenous nuclear power plants in exchange for more nuclear proliferation resistant light water reactors and normalized relations with the West. The Korean Peninsula Energy Development Organization (KEDO) was put in place to help carry out the agreements, but failures by both sides to carry out their part of the agreement led to the collapse of the Agreed Framework by 2002, when the United States convinced KEDO to cease oil shipments to North Korea. KEDO officially terminated the project in 2006.


	9. Starting Over

**I've got to be the worst ever about updating this. I'm so sorry. ;A; I like to write long chapters and it's really hard to find time to sit down and write that much.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

By the time the two nations made their way back to the conference building, the delegates' meeting was nearly over. Mr. Blitzer, who must have stayed in the lobby with Kang Dae the whole time, looked up at them curiously as they entered, the wind carrying in flakes of the now falling snow after them.

"What were you two doing outside?" Mr. Blitzer asked, directing the question at Alfred. "I never even saw you leave. I thought you were in the meeting room with the others." Beside him, Kang Dae looked demandingly at North, as if he had his own questions to ask. Suddenly it occurred to Alfred that maybe Kang Dae wasn't aware of his or North's identities either—or if he was, he was all too aware that Mr. Blitzer _didn't, _and was intent to keep it that way.

"We were—uh—scheduled to be in on the meeting but..." Alfred responded slowly after a pause. He could sense North tensing up beside him, as if the Korean didn't trust the American to handle the conversation, but didn't quite know what to say himself. They needed an excuse, quick! "…One of the other delegates left something very important back at the hotel and N—…Mr. Im—took it upon himself to escort me there to retrieve it for him." He quickly patted one of his pockets as if he'd stored this supposed 'something' there. Yes, yes, this story seemed reasonable, he thought. And North was nodding beside him as if this was indeed the truth, so Alfred decided to roll with it. "And unfortunately, on the way back it started snowing really hard! So…we're a bit late."

"Yes. My apologies," North said, giving a quick bow towards Kang Dae. "Some of the streets still have not been cleared."

"Unfortunate," Kang Dae huffed, narrowing his eyes at the two nations. "Well, hurry up. I hope nothing has been _too _delayed by your absence."

"Kamsahabnida," North muttered quickly before taking Alfred by the sleeve and pulling him towards the conference room. He opened the door slowly and stepped in quietly so as to cause as little disturbance to the meeting as possible. Alfred followed behind, wondering how much of the meeting was even left for them to disturb.

A few eyes glanced up as they took their seats, but ultimately, the delegates went back to their discussion without skipping a beat. Alfred took a seat at the end of the table looked across the table to North, who had folded his hands neatly in front of him and now seemed to be trying to make as little eye contact with Alfred as possible. Maybe North could only handle so much social interaction in one day.

On the Korean side of the table, the man who appeared to be in charge—if the way his comrades nodded in agreement at his every word was any indication—said something, and after a pause, a translator relayed it to the American delegation. "He says, 'We can do nothing as long as the US shows no interest in dialogue."

Mr. Richardson, who seemed to have taken the leadership role on the American side of the table, answered. "Of course you can't, and I understand that," he said, directing his words at the head Korean, but glancing at the translator every now and then as if to make sure she was hearing his words correctly. "But I'm going to be honest with you—the US isn't going to show any interest until they get the impression that you and your comrades want to talk productively. They're very concerned about the incident regarding Yeonpyeong. They feel – they don't feel that…" The governor paused, searching for the right words. "They feel that engaging in dialogue solely as a result of that incident would not be productive."

Of course, Alfred thought, Mr. Richardson couldn't say what the politicians back in the US had been saying regarding the Yeonpyeong shelling—that giving the North Koreans dialogue after what was essentially an act of terrorism would be like rewarding them for bad behavior. How was he supposed to say that without offending the North Koreans?

The translator hesitated for a moment—most likely trying to figure out what to do with those last few remarks—before turning to her delegation and warbling out a few sentences in Korean. The head Korean made a face, then turned to his comrades for a conversation that eventually dragged on for several minutes.

The American delegation exchanged a few looks, mostly in Mr. Namkung's direction (since he did speak Korean and was probably listening after all), but was for the most part, silent. Alfred glanced across the table to North once more. The Korean seemed to be mostly listening to his comrades' conversation without saying much. Alfred wondered if he was officially allowed to have a say at all.

After a few more minutes, the head Korean turned back to the translator and said something, which the translator parroted back as, "'The DPRK will talk productively if the US will talk productively."

Mr. Richardson nodded. "But you're still going to need to prove that you're serious. I'm telling you—no matter what happens in the next few days, you have to show restraint."

The translator relayed this back to her comrades, waited for their answer, and a moment later said back to the American delegation, "If the South Korean or US militaries show signs of aggression, we will respond accordingly."

A few seats down, Mr. Namkung sighed. "They're going to keep giving you their standard pitch, Bill. They're concerned about looking weak for not retaliating." Mr. Namkung, who must have been listening as the Koreans debated amongst themselves, seemed discouraged.

If Mr. Richardson was frustrated though, he didn't show it. He looked across the table at the head Korean and directed his words right at him. "I have to strongly urge you, as someone who wants to see the best come of you and your people, not to retaliate to these drills. They are just that—drills."

The translator spoke quickly to her comrades, and then a moment later: "'The DPRK regards such 'drills' as an act of aggression.'"

Alfred was itching to say something. Technically, he wasn't really supposed to. Typically these sorts of meetings were between government officials only, and nations themselves were not supposed to have sway over foreign officials. But something was really bothering him. Perhaps it was true that the drills were meant as a show of force, but weren't they only being planned in the first place because North Korea had done something first? Hadn't the North Koreans shelled Yeonpyeong? How could they say the drills were aggression when the Americans were clearly only here because of something North Korea did?

But before he could even open his mouth to say something, the head Korean turned to the translator, and a moment later the translator said, "Mr. Ri thinks it would be in both parties' best interest to continue this meeting at another time. For now, he would like to invite the American delegates to a lunch banquet."

Alfred, who suddenly realized how far forward he'd been leaning in his seat in anticipation, relaxed against the back of the chair, letting out an annoyed puff of air. Maybe Mr. Ri had glanced over from the other side and gotten the sense that Alfred was about to interfere, then decided it was time to end the meeting for the day. Or, perhaps, he'd realized his own hypocrisy and didn't want to leave anyone the chance to point it out. Alfred cast a quick, accusing glance at North, wondering if he had anything to do with it, only to find him studying a piece of paper in front of him innocently.

"Oh, I didn't even notice the time," Mr. Richardson said with a laugh, nudging up his sleeve to peek at his watch. "That would be wonderful," he said, directing his words towards the translator. "Tell Mr. Ri that we accept."

A moment later, Mr. Blitzer was allowed to rejoin them, and the Americans were led down to a large banquet hall, which, despite having some 20 or so tables set, was entirely empty. Some polite women in colorful traditional wear guided them to their sits, which, Alfred soon discovered, were completely separate from where the Koreans would be sitting.

The American delegation spread out around a circular table already set with silverware and the multiple Korean side dishes called _banchan _that would accompany the main course. Carefully arranged in little bowls, the side dishes made quite a colorful display, each one a different color or shade.

Alfred couldn't help noticing the way the women who had led them in stared, fixated, as some young men in white brought out the main dishes. Judging by the way the women were looking, it was obvious they didn't get to eat like this every day. How high up did you have to be to eat like this, Alfred wondered? It was no secret that the North Koreans had trouble feeding their people. Was this kind of meal a huge treat, even for the North Korean delegates? What about the cooks and the translator (who had mysteriously disappeared) and the nice ladies in the colorful dresses? Was food short even in the great city of Pyongyang? Did these people linger after banquets to see if there were leftovers? Did they harbor scornful thoughts of rich foreigners, who got to dine in relative luxury right in front of them?

Alfred found himself staring blankly at the food on his plate. The food, which looked like some kind of fish, had to be way better than what the average people here ate day to day. Suddenly, he found himself lacking in appetite. Maybe if he didn't eat anything, someone less well-fed would have a nice meal today…

After lunch, the handlers Kang Dae and Ki Young took the American delegation sightseeing. Alfred couldn't help but feel that it was a poor way to spend their time here. Weren't they here to help defuse tensions? Shouldn't they be resuming their meeting instead? When Alfred expressed this to Mr. Richardson, the governor simply shrugged. "Humor them," he said. "They want to show us their country. If we seem too forceful about meetings, they may not listen. Just go along with it."

Somewhere between the banquet hall and their first stop, Kim Il Sung University, North disappeared. Convenient, Alfred thought. But maybe it was for the best. After the banquet, he wasn't sure he could even speak to the Korean without questioning him about Mr. Ri's evasiveness or the looks on the faces of the women in the banquet hall. So much for starting over on a good note.

Kim Il Sung University was…impressive, in terms of scale, but disturbing on a multitude of levels.

The first thing Alfred noticed was how empty the giant halls were. At first he managed to convince himself that the students were just in class. But after passing several dark, empty rooms, he abandoned that idea. In the rooms where class did appear to be in session, students sat in front of computers, but curiously, never typed, never scrolled, never even touched the mouse. Only a few rooms appeared to have lectures going on. The rest of the rooms were occupied by students staring silently at papers on their desks or were empty altogether. After a while, Alfred grew tired of trying to figure out how much of what he saw was real and how much was staged, and wished only to move on to the next attraction.

That attraction turned out to be the Juche Tower, a towering granite spire which, the Koreans bragged, was taller than the Washington Monument. After a short moment to enjoy the view from atop the tower, the delegation was quickly ushered on to the next sight.

Not far from the Juche Tower was the North Korean version of the Arc de Triomphe, almost identical to the one in Paris, except for that it was apparently 11 meters taller, a point which the Koreans were very eager to make at every opportunity. If someone asked a question, it would be answered hastily, and then the arc's height would be quickly pointed out again. If the conversation strayed too far from the guides' comfort zones, they would quickly change the subject. For Alfred this grew tiresome very quickly. He was on the verge of taking back his thought from before: maybe it _would_ be better to have North here to talk to. Maybe then, at least, he could say something—anything—to someone without having one of the guides point out for the fiftieth time how tall something was.

By the time it was all over, it seemed like Alfred had seen everything in downtown Pyongyang. Were they going to do this every day? Surely the Koreans would run out of things to show them. It was only the end of his first full day here, and already Alfred was beginning to doubt the prospects for the future.

When he returned to his room at the hotel, he wondered briefly if his stuff had been gone through while he was gone. It wasn't like he had anything to hide—he was sure by now every North Korean in the hotel had been told who he was—but everything was coming as a big slap in the face anyway. It was well known that the situation in North Korea was bad. It was no secret that they had trouble feeding their people or that they strictly controlled the flow of information. But it never really hit him until he got here—until he could see the looks on the faces of the women in the banquet hall, notice the guides changing the subject suddenly, feel the bones of North's hand when he shook it—that it all started to become real. This was reality. These things actually were happening. It wasn't just something that was shown on TV to make a political statement about democracy. Suddenly, he was almost positive someone had snooped around while he was gone.

The next morning followed a routine similar to the first. Breakfast downstairs, bright and early, before the delegation left for another morning meeting; this time with the North Koreans' top nuclear negotiator, Kim Kye Gwan. Previously, Kim had been a leading figure in the Six Party Talks—talks that had since stalled—between the two Koreas, China, Russia, Japan, and the US. Alfred wondered if maybe Mr. Kim's absence from the action would leave him a little more open to negotiating than Mr. Ri.

North was waiting for them outside the Foreign Ministry when they got there, huddling into his coat and bracing himself against the cold wind. He seemed more than happy to lead them into the warmth of the building, and even led them personally to the meeting room. This time, the room was deeper within the building and smaller, a sign that maybe they'd have a little more one-on-one with Mr. Kim. All the while, North seemed to be the only Korean around. It didn't appear that he had any plans to drag Alfred away for any private nation conversations today. Maybe the situation had grown more dire overnight and unnecessary personnel had been diverted from guiding the American delegation to go do their regular jobs instead. Even one of their handlers seemed to be missing. Kang Dae had led them to the Foreign Ministry alone; Ki Young was nowhere to be found.

When Mr. Kim arrived, there was a great flurry of welcomes and terse bows and handshakes. Even Mr. Blitzer had the opportunity to exchange a quick hello with Mr. Kim before he and his camera were ushered out once more by Kang Dae. Mr. Kim was accompanied by his translator and considerably fewer delegates than Mr. Ri had been the day before. Everyone took their seats, and the meeting began.

Things progressed similarly to the last meeting. Dialogue or war. Ready for either, the North Koreans said. Show restraint. Don't respond militarily, the Americans would say. It was beginning to look like a carbon copy of the day before, and Alfred was getting bored quickly. He wanted to say something. Of all the people in the room, North would be the most understanding, he thought. Surely North shared his dismay at having to sit in on a meeting but not being able to share a single opinion. And despite the tone of the meeting, the two of them _had _had a conversation about starting over. Maybe, of all the people on the Korean side, he'd be the most open to something different—the most open to changing the tone. If Alfred could _just _get North to somehow express interest in one of the Americans' ideas, or advise his comrades to be open-minded, or _something. _

Finally, to his great relief, the conversation began to shift from its repetitive course. Maybe it was a change of strategy Mr. Richardson had discussed with his advisers the night before, because he began suggesting his own ideas to the North Koreans.

"Look, you've got to make concessions somewhere," he said. "Or nothing's ever going to move forward."

Among the things he suggested were allowing nuclear inspectors back into the country (Alfred could tell North did not like this idea at all. When he looked over at him, the Korean was making no effort to hide his eye-rolling), selling their fuel rods to South Korea, and establishing an emergency hotline between the two countries. The last two seemed to be topics of intrigue to the Koreans, as suddenly, they began asking questions. Would the South really buy nuclear fuel rods? How many? For how much? Would they use them to make their own weapons? How would the hotline work? Who could access it? Would the Americans be eavesdropping on their calls? After at least an hour of fairly intense conversation over these topics, Alfred was feeling a bit more hopeful. It seemed they'd just made a breakthrough.

But then: "We'll consider these options."

It wasn't the perfect ending he'd been hoping for, but what more could he expect? It was becoming more and more clear that information in North Korea only flowed up. Even high ranking officials like Mr. Kim probably couldn't agree to anything officially without final word from the Dear Leader.

After a quick lunch (which again, Alfred only picked at), the American delegation was taken sightseeing, led this time by Kang Dae and North himself. Alfred couldn't help but wonder what had become of Ki Young. Had he been transferred somewhere else? Was he doing a lousy job of guiding the Americans and had simply been removed? Alfred felt the latter would be especially unfair, considering Ki Young had only been leading them for a day and a half.

The first stop was the Grand People's Study House—or the national library, in non-nationalistic terms. Like Kim Il Sung University, it was huge and curiously empty. The entrance had a huge statue of Kim Il Sung sitting on what seemed to be a throne. It was like the Lincoln Memorial in a way, but much creepier and communistic. The halls were wide and well-swept, every tile in pristine condition.

About halfway through the tour, Alfred saw North suddenly break from the group and duck into a side room, pulling what appeared to be a phone from his pocket. Well, the high officials of North Korea had to communicate with each other somehow, he guessed. It was just strange to see someone in North Korea actually using a cell phone. It wasn't unheard of. Just strange. But, it gave him an idea. If North and South Korea could have a hotline, why not North Korea and America?

When North returned to the group, Alfred waited several minutes before nudging North to fall behind the group and dropping the question. "Hey, North... Do you have a phone?"

The Korean just gave him annoyed look. "I'm not letting you use it."

"No no no!" Alfred said hurriedly, smiling, but trying to keep his voice down. The rest of the group was several yards ahead of them buy now, but by no means out of earshot. "I don't wanna use it. I was just asking if you had one." Hopefully, North hadn't noticed Alfred watching him as he snuck off to take a call.

North eyed Alfred suspiciously, as if trying to figure out where he was going with this conversation. He answered slowly. "Yes... I have one. Do you think I am that behind technologically?"

"No!" Alfred replied as innocently as he could. "I trust you know your stuff. You have an international network and everything?"

"I have a card that gives me access to one, yes," North answered slowly. "Why are you asking? What do you want? Are you planning to try and steal my phone and call someone or something? What are you—"

"Gosh, calm down!" Alfred said, holding a finger to his lips, a gesture to try and get the Korean to quiet down. "Man, you're dense! I'm asking for your phone number!"

"You're..." North looked truly perplexed.

"Yeah! You know!" Okay, well, maybe North didn't know. Cell phones, even if they were becoming more common, were not the norm in North Korea. North probably only exchanged numbers with high officials and emergency contacts. Having an American ask him for his contact information (in the fashion that a guy might ask a girl for hers, no less) had to be totally out of his comfort zone.

"I mean, it'd be kinda like you and South having a hotline, right?" Alfred continued, trying to explain his line of thinking. "You guys seemed pretty interested in that, right? And you're always complaining that the guys in Washington won't talk to you, so maybe we could have our own hotline! Just you and me. Nation to nation. Like, you can call me if you wanna talk about something, and I can try and do something about it if Washington's not listening."

"No," North said simply, picking up his pace to try and rejoin the group. "That's a terrible idea."

"Why?"

"I don't need you calling me! And I don't need to call you!"

"Why not?" Alfred reached out to the take the other's arm and pull him back, a move that had the Korean whirling back to face him almost immediately. Alfred let go a second later, realizing he'd breached the Korean's personal space. "We said we'd start over, right? Remember? We shook hands and reintroduced ourselves and everything! And you said you'd be productive. So let's start being productive. All right? I'll stop making childish jokes at you and you...stop acting so hostile. It's all good."

North considered this for a moment before, to Alfred's delight, he grumbled and stopped to pull out a pen and a piece of paper, which he hastily scribbled his number on before shoving it back at Alfred. "If you call me without good reason, I'll—"

"Hey! Productive, remember? No more threats!" Realizing North might like to call Alfred sometime, Alfred tore off an unused section of the paper North had given him and jotted down his own number before handing it back to him. "There. Now you have mine."

North nodded and stuck the paper in his pocket, then went back to walking, but Alfred wasn't quite ready to drop a rare conversation with the Korean so quickly. "So...does South have your number?"

"Of course not," North snorted.

"China?"

"Yes."

"Russia?"

"Maybe."

A thoughtful pause.

"Iran?"

"Not your business."

Alfred chuckled. "So is that a yes?"

"It's not your business is what it is. I thought you were going to stop with your _childish _jokes."

"That wasn't a joke!" Alfred protested. "It was a serious question!"

The Korean shook his head and proceeded to ignore the American. Alfred frowned, but after a few moments of silence:

"Do you and Iran gossip about me?"

"No."

"Do you guys have a super-secret nuclear club you go to?"

"No!"

"Do you liiike her?"

"_No!_"

Alfred snickered and held his finger to his lips again, shushing the other quietly. "See, _that_ was a childish joke. But I'll stop now, okay?"

North scowled and strode ahead to rejoin the group. "This is why I don't deal with you," he said.

Later that afternoon, they spent some time in a foreign language high school in Pyongyang, where North Korean high school students tested their language skills. Alfred was quite impressed with the students' English; some of them spoke with almost no accent. North seemed rather proud of this fact and smiled at Alfred smugly.

When the tour was over, the American delegation was driven back to the hotel. Though there was still an hour or two of sunlight left, a chill wind was blowing in from the north, causing the delegation to shiver and shudder every step to the van. Kang Dae, too, deemed it too cold to do anything else but return to the hotel.

"Too cold," he grumbled. "There are things to do at the hotel anyway. Go to the karaoke bar and relax."

Mr. Namkung, however, would have none of that. When the group arrived back at the hotel, he immediately pulled everyone aside into one of the hotel's meeting rooms. Kang Dae and North were still trailing them at this point, but Mr. Namkung didn't bother telling them to leave. Every room in the hotel was probably bugged anyway, so it didn't matter if they overheard.

"Look," he said. "Even though the Koreans seemed to be open to our suggestions in the meeting today, I still think this situation could become very dangerous, very quickly. As far as we know, South Korea is still planning to go forward with their live fire drills. What happens if we go to war? What's the first thing the North Koreans are going to do?"

"Close the borders," Mr. Blitzer said.

"Right," Mr. Namkung affirmed. "Whatever flights they have going out of Pyongyang, they'll cancel them. They won't want to mess with them. Flying out foreigners would be the least of their problems."

"And we'll be stuck," Mr. Blitzer realized. "What should we do?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Mr. Namkung said. "I think we need to start looking for an alternate way out of this country. Find someone who could drive us to the border with China, maybe. Or see if there's a way we can rent an SUV."

Alfred glanced back at North and Kang Dae, both of whom suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Alfred didn't think Kang Dae would be able to do anything without approval from a superior, and he was fairly sure the Korean wouldn't have wanted to anyway. Maybe North would have, but if war broke out, North was sure to be one of the least available people around.

Ms. Dillingham followed Alfred's gaze and caught Kang Dae's attention. "Would you be able to help us arrange for some emergency transportation?" she asked.

"I can't do anything," Kang Dae said, shaking his head. "Not authorized."

All eyes turned to North, who seemed to shrink away uncomfortably. "Travel permits are hard to get," he said. "To get all the way to the border with China, someone with a lot of clearance will have to take you."

"What about the border with South Korea?" Mr. Richardson asked. "It's not as far. Surely someone has the clearance to get to the DMZ."

"Maybe," Kang Dae admitted. "But to cross? Arranging that may be more difficult than just trying to get you to China."

"Would it be possible for you to check, at least?" Mr. Richardson asked. "Just see if someone might be available to help us, even if you can't yourself."

Kang Dae hesitated. "I can see..."

Mr. Richardson shot him a friendly smile. "Thank you."

Mr. Namkung and Mr. Richardson spent a while longer discussing their options, but the rest of the group dispersed. Alfred caught a glimpse of North trying to slip away and quickly followed, eventually catching up to him in the hotel lobby.

"You've got to have more clearance than anybody," Alfred said, stepping between the Korean and the door. North scowled, trying a few times to step around the larger American, who continued to block his way.

"As far as _they _are concerned," North said, referring to the American delegation. "I don't."

"Okay, fine," Alfred said, stepping into North's path once more. "Maybe you can't take us personally, but you've got to have some government influence too, right? I bet you can give someone else permission to take us."

"No," North said flatly, finally standing in place and glaring up at the American, as if giving him dirty looks might somehow be more effective in getting him to move.

Alfred frowned. "No, you can't? Or no, you won't?"

"No, I can't, _and _I wouldn't anyway."

And at this, Alfred was genuinely offended. Was he the only one putting any effort into this starting over thing? North was about as uncooperative and unhelpful as a rock. "Why not?" Alfred demanded, leaning in a little closer, trying to use his height to intimidate the Korean, though North never seemed to be intimidated by much of anything the American did.

"I'm not in charge of that—"

"You're North fucking Korea!"

"Keep it down!" North snapped, glancing about the lobby. "All travel has to be approved. I'm not in charge of approving it. Even if I was, I wouldn't clear you to leave the country early. You came here to make a peacekeeping effort. Not run away."

"We're not leaving early!" Alfred insisted, growing frustrated. "In the _event _of a war, would you, or would you not be able to help us find a way out?"

"Maybe."

"That's not a helpful answer. I thought you were going to be cooperative from now on."

"Cooperating is not the same as bending to your every whim, American."

"This is a request! That's all!" Alfred didn't want to have to resort to pleading with North, but he had a responsibility to his people, and he wasn't about to let them be caught in the middle of a war if he could help it. He crossed his arms, irritated. "Can you _please_ just check? You've got to have more power to do things within the government than Kang Dae does. I _know _you do."

"I can check," North shrugged, "but I can make no advance arrangements."

Well, that was better than nothing.

"Just try," Alfred sighed, finally stepping aside so that North could pass. But before North could get too far, Alfred reached out and stopped him again, catching him by the back of his coat. "Wait. One more thing."

"What?" North demanded, pushing at the American's hand.

"I just want to remind you that we started over, okay?" Alfred said, drawing his hand away, but keeping his gaze fixed on North. "Remember what I said before: I don't want anything bad to happen for anybody, and that includes you. Yong Soo's a great friend of mine, and I want to see you and him live happily alongside each other one day. I know we're not really allowed to say stuff at the meetings, but I think you guys should seriously consider some of Mr. Richardson's proposals. Even that hotline would help."

He paused, looking for some sign of agreement in North's dark eyes, but the Korean was as silent and hard to read as ever. "Okay?"

North was silent for a long moment. "We'll see," was all he said. Alfred let out another sigh.

"Will I see you in the morning?"

North nodded.

"I will be with you the rest of the time you are here—until the South Koreans start their drills, at least."

"And what then?"

North averted his gaze, seemingly uncomfortable again. Alfred's heart dropped. This wasn't a good sign at all. More than likely, if South Korea started their drills, North would be called to the DMZ. If the Koreas went to war, Alfred might not see him again, at least for a long time.

The Korean just shook his head, turned and headed for the door. "We'll see."


	10. Transport

**I'm sorry for not updating again. Me and my long chapters. :C I'm gonna try and write shorter ones in the future so I can update more often, but for this point in the story, I feel like short chapters would be bad pacing.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

Mr. Richardson briefed the group quickly as they gathered for breakfast in the hotel lobby. Today they would be meeting with Major General Pak Rim Su, the commander of the North Korean forces on the DMZ. If something happened in the next few days that drove the Koreas to war, he would be the man leading the North Koreans into battle. Today's meeting was crucial. This man, if given the command, could literally start a war at any time. Getting through to him was essential, and the gravity of this fact seemed to be weighing on the minds of the entire group. Breakfast was eaten in near silence, and then the group departed.

North once again waited for them outside the Foreign Ministry, today lacking his dark coat in favor of an olive green military uniform for the occasion. Alfred had to wonder how long he'd been waiting out there. Though no more snow had fallen, it was still dreadfully cold, and the chill wind blowing from the north only made it worse.

Alfred smiled when he approached the Korean, hoping it would set a good tone for the meeting ahead.

"Good morning," he said brightly, trying to keep his uneasiness out of his voice. "Are you ready?"

"Why would I not be ready?" North asked, frowning. Alfred kept smiling, despite feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Was North bitter over their conversation about emergency transportation the day before? If he was, Alfred could only hope it wouldn't affect the meeting in any way.

North glanced over the rest of the group before his eyes settled on Mr. Blitzer. "You'll have to wait outside," he said, directing his words toward the man and his camera. "Kang Dae will be here shortly. You're free to explore the Patong River area as long as he's with you."

Mr. Blitzer moved his hand with the camera behind his back, as if he were ashamed. "Of course!" He was silent for a moment. "Will Kang Dae be able to take me anywhere indoors? It's awfully cold today."

"I'm sure he'd be happy to do so if you ask him nicely," North said with a grim smile. From what Alfred had seen of Kang Dae throughout their trip, he thought the Korean guide would probably rather watch Mr. Blitzer squirm from the cold than find a warm place indoors.

As they were talking, a white car pulled up. Speak of the devil.

"There's Kang Dae now," North nodded towards the car as Kang Dae stepped out, accompanied by Ki Young. North excused himself for a moment to exchange a few words with Kang Dae before returning to the group and leading them inside for the meeting.

When the American delegation took their seats in the meeting room, the other side of the table was empty. A few minutes later, Major General Pak Rim Su and several other military officials filed in, neatly lining up their hats on a table behind them before they all stepped forward to exchange greetings with Mr. Richardson and his advisors. The General seemed to take warmly to Mr. Richardson in particular. That was a good sign, Alfred thought. This meeting would be a breeze!

At least, that's what he'd thought.

Despite the warm greetings, the meeting took a track similar to that of the day before almost immediately.

"If the South Koreans go ahead with their drills, the North will retaliate," the General said through the translator. Alfred was actually surprised. The General was so _forward _about it. It was almost the first thing he said, and it didn't leave much room to negotiate. How was any sort of peace supposed to be achieved when the North's top military man had that sort of attitude?

Mr. Richardson was trying to dissuade the General from that route. "I need you to be statesmen," he said, addressing the North Korean delegation as a whole. "Don't retaliate. We need to build some trust here."

"We will not allow the South to go on with such provocations unchecked," one of the other North Korean officials said through the translator. "We need the world to know that we are not the provokers. We will respond if this goes on."

_How does responding let the world know that you are not the provokers? _Alfred wondered to himself. He guessed that maybe from the North Koreans' point of view, it was a cause-and-effect case where the South was the cause and the North was the effect, but to the rest of the world, the North was the cause because of what they'd supposedly done to the Cheonan, and South Korea's drills were the effect. The North Koreans were sadly out-voted.

After some more urging the North Koreans to hold back (What more could he do really? There was no real way to guarantee that fighting wouldn't break out.), Mr. Richardson switched tactics. If the North Koreans couldn't be dissuaded, the Americans could at least offer something to try and make a bad situation marginally better. The proposed hotline between North and South that had been discussed in yesterday's meeting was brought up once again, with similar results. While the North Koreans seemed interested, they didn't ultimately accept the offer. Alfred thought they probably couldn't. After all, it seemed like the Dear Leader had the finally call on just about everything here. Unless they were going to get a meeting with him during their time here, they probably weren't going to get a straight answer.

"I will study these," was all the General had to say on Mr. Richardson's proposals. Disappointing, but better than an outright 'no.'

A few minutes later, the meeting dissolved. Mr. Richardson was visibly disappointed. This had been their big chance, but tensions didn't seem any closer to being eased. Alfred was suddenly very eager to ask North if he'd been able to arrange for any sort of transportation out of the country. If nothing else, Alfred wanted to make sure the rest of the American delegation got to safety.

The group stepped out into the lobby to find Mr. Blitzer and the two guides waiting for them. A few minutes later, North rejoined them, and the group was once again whisked away for lunch at one of Pyongyang's restaurants.

Upon stepping inside, Alfred was not only surprised to see other people eating (everything about Pyongyang seemed to be showcase after all, so why not the restaurants?), but to see non-Asian people there as well. Could it be that this was just a popular place for tour guides to take their groups?

The group was led to a cluster of tables against the wall. Kang Dae and the drivers sat together, and North seemed to be ready to join them, but Alfred caught his arm before he could sit. "We need to talk."

"I couldn't control what happened at that meeting," North said, already moving to defend himself.

"I know," Alfred said, pulling the other to sit with him farther down the table. "But we're gonna talk anyway."

After a few minutes of looking at the menu and waiting for the waitress to finish taking their orders, Alfred got down to business. Not wanting the others to hear, he leaned in towards North, his voice low. "Were you able to arrange any transportation?"

The question was met with North's usual frown. "I said I would _check. _I didn't say I was arranging any."

"Well, did you _check?" _Alfred insisted. "You've gotta work with me here."

"I checked," North said. Alfred waited. North didn't go on.

"…And?" Alfred prompted after a pause. It was like North was still going out of his way to make things difficult!

"I can arrange for four of you to leave," North answered, keeping his voice low.

Alfred's heart dropped.

"Just four?" he asked in disbelief. He was sure North would be able to do better than that if he was able to do anything! "Why just four?"

"The only vehicle I can get for you can hold four people plus a driver," North replied pausing as the waitress brought them their drinks. When she was gone, he continued. "And I still haven't been able to arrange for you to actually cross."

"Why not?" Alfred pressed.

North let out an annoyed puff of air. "Well, you only asked me last night, for one. Be patient. Don't you leave tomorrow night by plane anyway?"

"Well…" Alfred had been so caught up in the day-to-day events that he'd nearly forgotten. No wonder North seemed so bothered. He probably didn't see t he point of arranging this stuff if the Americans were going to leave in a day anyway. Alfred didn't want to push the Korean too much. He had a feeling that if he started to get on North's nerves, the Korean might stop trying altogether. And yet, this needed to get done in case something happened and the airport was shut down. "Yes, but...if something happens before then, I want to know that my people are safe. When do you think you'll know?"

"Maybe tomorrow," North answered flatly. "Maybe."

"That's not very helpful."

North huffed. "Do you want to arrange it yourself? Good luck."

"No—look, I'm sorry I'm bothering you so much about it, okay," Alfred sighed. "I just want to make sure they get to safety even if I can't. Are you sure you can only manage four?"

"Unless I can find someone with enough clearance and a bigger vehicle, yes."

"Could you maybe…check a second time?" Alfred tried to smile. This was so hard. He felt like he was practically begging—North Korea of all people. Being completely at the other's mercy in a situation like this wasn't fun at all. North must be enjoying it, he thought.

"After I make sure you can cross in the first place…maybe," North said again, being unhelpful as ever. "You could always make two trips."

"Is that two trips to the DMZ or two trips to freaking China?"

"I have yet to figure that out."

Alfred let out another sigh. "Well, thanks, I guess," he mumbled.

After that, the two of them sat in silence until the waitress returned with their food. Alfred had to wonder about his order. Despite having a rudimentary knowledge of Korean, he still ordered based on the pictures when he went to restaurants with Yong Soo. The situation had been the same today. When the food arrived, what he'd ordered turned out to be a stew of mostly vegetables with the occasional piece of tofu. The waitress finished laying out the side dishes, asked them if they needed anything else, then left.

Alfred glanced at what North had ordered and noted that it didn't look quite like anything he'd ever seen Yong Soo get when they went out. "What's that?" he asked, leaning forward to get a better look. "It doesn't look like anything I've seen at restaurants with Yong Soo."

"It's called _onban_," North replied, taking his chopsticks and beginning to stir what looked like another kind of stew. "It has rice, noodles, mushrooms, bean pancake, egg, and chicken in it. You haven't seen South eat it before because it is a North Korean creation he would have been too stupid to mastermind."

Alfred frowned at the slight against Yong Soo, but held his tongue. North might actually be making an effort to have a conversation with him here.

The Korean glanced at what Alfred had ordered. "Yours is called _doenjang jjigae_. Made with bean paste, vegetables, and tofu."

Alfred scooped up a spoonful of broth and vegetables, blowing on it softly to cool it before taking a sip. He mulled over the taste for a moment before deciding he liked it.

"It's good. Is this one a North Korea exclusive?"

"No. It's eaten all over Korea."

"Are there any more North Korea dishes I should know about?" If anything, Alfred figured getting North to talk about something he was proud of was a way to get on his good side.

And just as he thought, North seemed to jump to the opportunity, his eyes lighting up as he sat a little straighter. "There's Pyongyang cold noodles, Pyongyang dumplings, _nakji samgyeopsal bokum—"_

"Whoa, slow down, you lost me at that last one," Alfred broke in. "Tell me about that one…"

With the meal finished and North seemingly in a much better mood, the group set out again for the state-sanctioned afternoon of sightseeing.

Once again, the minivans were the only cars on the road. The landscape seemed chill and brittle, the fields and mountainsides turned gray and white by the winter. The sky was clear and crisp and the few clouds floating by seemed like frozen feathers in the icy air. Except for each other, they were alone.

Their first stop was an apple orchard. Had it been summer, Alfred was sure the trees would have been a very impressive sight, with sprawling green branches and the beginnings of fruit that would grow into apples. But as far as the eye could see, the trees stood gray and bare in the winter air. Today, with the snow hanging on the trees' brittle branches, the whole thing just seemed kind of sad.

The group was told a brief history of the orchard. The first trees had been planted years ago in more prosperous times and had been providing food for the people and the military ever since. Alfred had to wonder how much of it actually went to the people, but he didn't ask, sure the guides would dodge the question anyway.

There wasn't much to see of the orchard itself, so the group was led farther down the road to a lonely little cottage.

North stepped forward to knock on the door himself. After a moment of waiting, an elderly woman opened the door a crack. She looked North over for a moment before a smile spread across her face, and she pulled him forward into a hug, babbling excitedly in Korean. Alfred held back a chuckle, amused by the embarrassed expression that had painted itself across North's face.

They were invited inside, and the delegation graciously stepped into the comfortable heat of the cottage. The cottage was inhabited by the elderly woman and her family, which included her children and grandchildren. The sprawling orchard nearby had once been inspected by the Dear Leader, who had stopped by to visit the cottage as well. Spotless portraits of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il hung on the wall in the living room, testament to the home's history.

While Mr. Blitzer and the other members of the delegation asked the old woman about her home and life, a little boy toddled out of one of the other rooms and waved cutely, chirping, "Annyeong! Annyeong!" at each person he passed.

"Annyeong!" Ms. Dillingham cooed, waving back at the boy. She turned to Ki Young, pulling something from her coat pocket. "Can I take a picture?"

Ki Young, who had seemed to be the stricter of the guides about pictures in the past, simply made a gesture inviting her to go ahead.

After a few pictures, the boy became interested in the camera and pointed at it. After a quick lesson from Ms. Dillingham, he was running around the room, taking pictures of his grandmother and the American delegates.

While everyone else was distracted, Alfred turned to North. "So, is that lady like your grandma or something?" he teased, throwing his arm around the Korean and smiling widely as the grandson toddled up to them for a picture.

North refrained from pushing the American off only until the boy had passed so as not to cause a scene, but as soon as he was gone, he pushed Alfred off.

"Of course not," North huffed, straightening out his uniform peevishly. "I was with Mr. Kim when he visited this house. She recognized me. That's all."

"What did she say to you? She looked awfully happy."

"Oh. She was just going on about how I hadn't changed."

"…How long ago was this?"

North paused for a moment. "Maybe ten years?"

"Does she know who you are?"

"Yes. She was told."

"And everyone's okay with that?"

"This house is isolated enough. They won't tell."

"Hm," Alfred hummed, a little unsure of what to make of the situation. The cottage was basic, but more than what the majority of North Koreans got, he imagined. This family was probably well-off due to the fact that a simple visit from their leader had made their house almost sacred. As long as they didn't upset the state, they would probably be well-off for a long time. Really, they had no reason to tell anyone North's true identity. Still, it didn't seem fair. Most of the country didn't get to live like this.

After saying their goodbyes, the American delegation was ushered out and back to the minivans. From there, they were driven back to the hotel for some free time.

"You're free to do anything you want on the hotel grounds," Kang Dae told them before they could step out of the van. "Meet in the banquet hall at 6:00. You'll be having dinner with the Vice Foreign Minister."

Kang Dae paused, shooting a pointed look at Mr. Blitzer, who was seated next to Alfred, his camera cradled in his lap. "Off the record," Kang Dae added before dismissing them.

Alfred stepped out of the van and snagged North by the arm as soon as he saw him. "Hey. Will you be around later?"

"Yes. I'll be here at dinner."

"What about right now?"

"…I have some things to do."

"Is one of those things…checking up on our transportation situation by any chance?"

North frowned, seemingly annoyed again. "I will get to it."

"Do you promise?"

North sighed. "Yes. I promise. I will do it tonight."

"Okay…thank you," Alfred said, genuinely thankful that North was doing this for them. As far as he knew, Kang Dae hadn't done anything. "I know it must be weird. I mean…we're not supposed to like each other or help each other. So…thank you."

North simply waved a dismissive hand at him. "It's fine. I wouldn't want to cause an international _incident_ by refusing to help you."

Well…Alfred wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a joke or if the Korean was dead serious. It was hard to tell, as always. Alfred just smiled and gave the Korean an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Haha, well, either way, I'm thankful. See you tonight?"

"Yes. Tonight…"

As it turned out, dinner with the Vice Foreign Minister was the least tense event of their trip so far. The Minister was extremely amiable, spoke English well, and had a way of putting the rest of the group at ease. Mr. Namkung especially seemed to take warmly to him. If the fact that the Korean Peninsula was at the brink of war hadn't been tugging at everyone's minds, it might have even been an exceptional night.

After dinner and before Alfred could return to his room, Mr. Richardson caught him and pulled him aside. "Did Mr. Im say anything to you about transportation today?"

"He said he's working on it," Alfred responded. "He said he can arrange for four people at the moment."

"Four?" Mr. Richardson echoed in disbelief. "Just four?"

"Yeah. He said we could make two trips?"

"Is he planning on having us cross at the DMZ?"

"He doesn't know yet."

That thought seemed to make Mr. Richardson very anxious. "I hope he knows what he's doing. We meet with North Korea's vice president tomorrow, but I'm not sure what all we can do at this point. The South Korean exercises start soon. Hopefully we can just leave by plane as planned before then. Go get some sleep."

With those words weighing on his mind, Alfred dragged himself back to his room for the night.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**- A lot of homes in North Korea don't have electricity. The one the group visits is very lucky.**

**- _Onban - _literally means "warm meal" and resembles a Korean meal (soup, rice, sides) all combined into one.**

**- _Doenjang jjigae - _soybean paste soup, the ingredients can vary by season and location, but it usually includes tofu or seafood**

**- _nakji samgyeopsal bokum - _I'm not 100% sure on this one so forgive me if I'm wrong - cuts of squid and pork simmered in a salty, spicy sauce and served alongside vegetables**

**- Pyongyang is also known for it's _mul naengmyeon - _cold buckwheat noodles, but it's mostly a summer dish - and its Pyongyang dumplings, which as far as I can tell are just pork dumplings, maybe with some ingredients a little more unique to North Korea**

**-"_Annyeong_" - "hello"**


	11. The Brink

**This is becoming a usual thing in my author's notes but: I'm sorry for not updating again. This chapter was half finished in my folder for the longest time as I couldn't really find time to sit down and work on it. College is a tough transition, yeah? The past few weeks have been cram packed for me, and anyone who's been following me on tumblr has probably noticed my inactivity there too. Hopefully things start to die down a bit.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

Alfred blinked awake Monday morning with a sense of dread settled heavy in his gut. Was this really the last day? He could hardly believe it. It seemed like he'd been in this country forever trying to help diffuse the situation, and yet, after five days in North Korea, it didn't seem like anything had been accomplished. Aside from North's word that he and Alfred were going to "start over," what had been achieved? Mr. Richardson and the others had spent their mornings negotiating and pouring out suggestions to the North Koreans only to receive unclear answers and we'll-think-about-its. At this point, it was hard to tell what might happen. Despite wanting to remain optimistic, Alfred had a sinking feeling about what might happen after the South Koreans started their drills. After a few minutes of lying in bed staring at the ceiling and trying to ward away the sick feeling in his stomach, he got up to get dressed.

After breakfast, the group assembled outside the hotel and loaded into the two white minivans. Alfred again sat next to Mr. Blitzer, who was filming out the window with his handheld camera.

It was a surprisingly clear morning, the sun glistening on the now days-old snow, but Alfred could see wispy clouds drifting along in the distance. After a few minutes of driving through downtown Pyongyang, the group arrived at the People's Assembly, a huge majestic structure of white granite and marble. As they pulled into the parking lot, Alfred noted how empty it was. There were just a few cars, most of them small, surprisingly similar looking black or white four-doors. It was somehow fitting, Alfred thought.

North waited for them on the steps, as usual.

Alfred approached him, but before he could even ask, North was already updating him on the transportation situation.

"I couldn't do any better," he confessed, though Alfred didn't think the Korean seemed very apologetic. Getting a bunch of Americans out of his country was probably the least of North's problems at the moment. "I can arrange for four to go to the border with China. The rest will have to wait."

It wasn't the news Alfred wanted to hear, but with any luck, all of them would be flying out that evening anyway. "How long does it take to get to China?" he asked.

"Six to eight hours," North answered, though he paused for a moment to make a face. "With the snow, longer, maybe."

Alfred sighed. It was difficult to hide his disappointment, but hopefully, they wouldn't be needing any of this anyway. "I guess we'll just have to wait for the plane. Was there any sign of the South Koreans starting their drills?" He figured it was a question North might know the answer to.

"They've actually looked ready for days," North said, frowning. "Everything is in place. But they haven't done anything yet."

"So you can't tell if they might start today?"

"No."

"Well, if they do, just remember what we've been telling you all week. Hold back, okay?"

"We'll do what we deem best for the country."

Alfred resisted showing signs of frustration. That was almost the exact same answer they'd been given by every official they'd spoken to this week! Now, on the steps of the People's Assembly, Alfred was sure they were going to get the exact same answer from North Korea's Vice President during the meeting today.

On the inside, the People's Assembly was nearly as impressive as it was on the outside. Spotlessly gleaming marble floors and huge, patriotic murals greeted them at every turn. It was pleasantly warm inside, but Alfred got the feeling that only the parts of the building that would be in use had been heated today.

North led them down the huge, high-ceilinged hallway to the meeting room. When they arrived, the Vice President and what must have been his entire board of advisors waited for them. When the American delegation entered, they all rose to greet them. North went to stand with his comrades.

"I'm very happy to meet my old friend," the Vice President said—in English—as he shook Mr. Richardson's hand. Mr. Blitzer, camera rolling, was there to record the diplomatic moment.

"I'm very happy to meet you as well," Mr. Richardson replied, smiling, before reaching into his bag and pulling out five slim DVD cases. "I know your Dear Leader likes movies," he said, holding them out for the Vice President to take. "These were all made in New Mexico—where I'm from. I hope you'll share them with him."

"Thank you very much," the Vice President smiled, taking the DVDs and giving a little bow. Alfred hoped the gift would set a good tone for the meeting ahead. This was probably the highest official they were going to meet, as well as their last chance to make a difference.

After Mr. Blitzer was ushered out, the meeting began.

The Koreans, who must not have wanted to accidentally misunderstand anything, reverted back to Korean and the translator stepped in.

Mr. Richardson started off with a question: "Have you heard anything from the South Koreans?"

After a moment, the Vice President said through the translator: "Nothing."

That answer was troubling to Alfred. North had said the South Koreans looked ready to start their drills at any time, hadn't they? And yet, had they really said nothing to the North Koreans? No wonder they were so on edge. They had no idea what to expect, and the South Koreans weren't talking to them. Now getting that hotline up and running seemed absolutely imperative.

Mr. Richardson, as though he'd heard Alfred's thoughts, followed up with the same proposal he'd given in nearly every meeting they'd had this week—the hotline.

"That reminds me," Mr. Richardson began, "of something I discussed with some of your comrades earlier this week." He paused the make sure the Koreans were listening, then went on. "What I think we should do is set up a military hotline between you and the South. That way, in the future, you don't have to be in the dark about these kinds of things."

He went on to explain in more detail. Thought the Vice President listened intently as the translator relayed all the information back in Korean, Alfred had to wonder what the point was in re-explaining it all. Surely the Vice President would have heard this information by now from the officials they'd spoken to previously. The guy probably knew every detail before the meeting even began. When Mr. Richardson was done explaining, the Koreans took turns asking questions. To Alfred's surprise, they were a bit different than the ones they'd been asked about the hotline previously. _Will the South Koreans actually use it? Who's going to pay for it? Can it only be accessed from one location? Have the South Koreans agreed to this?_

This led to more discussion, and after a while:

"I think it would be a good idea."

It wasn't an outright yes, but it was closer to a yes than they'd gotten in any other meeting. Maybe, Alfred thought, this was a sign that the Dear Leader was listening and maybe even taking some of these proposals seriously when they finally got to his ears.

Mr. Richardson was clearly pleased, but he didn't push any farther, probably concerned that the Koreans still wouldn't be able to officially say yes. Instead he simply moved on to the next topic.

* * *

><p>The morning was still young. The meeting had lasted only about an hour and a half. It was quite short, but it seemed like they'd gotten at least some vaguely positive responses. It was a good sign—it meant maybe the Koreans had been discussing among themselves what had been said during the meetings. Maybe it meant they were starting to listen. Maybe it meant they weren't going to respond violently to the South's drills whenever they started. Maybe it meant nothing at all and the peninsula was going to descend into war as soon as someone made a wrong move. It was a hard call, and the thought of the South Korean drills starting still made Alfred feel sick to his stomach.<p>

For the remainder of the morning, Mr. Richardson was set to have another—private—meeting with the Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs. The rest of the group was set for another day of sightseeing. Alfred went looking for North.

He found the Korean leaning against a wall down a side hallway, facing away from him. Alfred looked closely and saw that North was on the phone. Though he strained his ears to listen, his found to his dismay that North's Korean was spoken too fast and quiet for him to understand even a word. But just the fact that North seemed to be trying to keep his voice down told him that it must be an important call. Maybe it was straight from Kim Jong Il himself, but Alfred would probably never know for sure. Wary of getting caught eavesdropping and what the consequences might be, he ducked back out into the main hallway to wait for North.

A few minutes later, North emerged from the side hall. Alfred examined his face, but nothing about the Korean suggested that he was nervous or stressed. If something was going on, he was very good at keeping a straight face.

"Will you still be with us today?" Alfred asked as North approached him. He thought, if nothing else, whether or not North would be able to stay with them might tell him a bit about the situation. If North had to go somewhere else, Alfred could guess that something serious was happening.

But North's answer was a simple, "Of course," and he motioned for Alfred to follow him. It didn't seem like whatever he was on the phone about was important enough to take him away from touring with the rest of the group. North led Alfred along in silence.

"Where are we going?" Alfred asked after a moment, eager to try and make some small talk with the Korean, who didn't seem inclined to start a conversation on his own.

"Today, we're taking you to see the Pyongyang Metro…and also, the factory where they make the finest silk thread in Asia."

Alfred wasn't sure he really believed that part about it being the finest in all of Asia, but he didn't argue. They'd caught up with the rest of the group in the lobby.

"Are we going to wait for Mr. Richardson?" Alfred asked North as the group was herded into the minivans waiting outside.

"He'll join us at lunch," North answered as he took his seat. It looked like he'd be sitting next to Alfred today. "Maybe earlier. It depends how long his meeting goes."

Alfred waited a moment, but North said nothing more. Though Alfred wanted to continue to hold a conversation with him, he was hesitant to do so with the others in the van. So, they rode along in silence.

After only a few minutes of driving, the vans parked along the curb of what seemed to be a very average street in downtown Pyongyang. The buildings were all the same, similar gray blocks, except for a mural of some soldiers that had been painted across the side of one. Ki Young, who seemed to be their guide for the day, led them down a set of stairs. After crossing a short, level platform, they boarded an escalator going down.

It was so long that Alfred realized he couldn't see the bottom from the top. It seemed like they were riding forever before the end was finally in sight.

But despite the wait, the station did not disappoint. It was quite possibly the most impressive station Alfred had ever set eyes on, with its spotless floors and high ceiling, which arched above their heads gracefully. Amazingly, chandeliers had been installed in the station. Murals similar to those above ground had been painted anywhere where intricate engravings in the stone walls were not enough to make jaws drop. It was quite simply an incredible subway station.

"This is called Prosperity Station," North said to Alfred, no doubt proud of how prosperous the station looked on its own. "Opened in 1973. It's one of the deepest subway systems in the world—and also doubles as a bomb shelter."

Alfred stared.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Is this what you were on the phone about?"

It was North's turn to stare. "Were you spying on me?"

Alfred huffed and tugged the Korean to the side as Ki Young went to work showing the rest of the group around the station. "Yeah, whatever, I was spying. I saw you on your phone. Did something happen? Are the drills starting soon? Is that why—"

"Be quiet," North hissed tersely, cutting him off. "No. This is purely coincidence."

"Is that sarcasm?" Alfred asked, really, legitimately unsure. "It doesn't seem like coincidence."

"It's coincidence," North assured him. "Everyone sees the station. This was scheduled from the beginning."

"For today?"

"Yes," North hissed through his teeth, clearly annoyed. "Stop worrying. Even if something happened, you couldn't ask to be in a safer place."

"Yes, I could," Alfred retorted, pulling North closer so passersby couldn't hear. "I could ask to not be on a peninsula that's at the brink of war. I could ask to live in a world where inter-Korean relations aren't a problem. That way, none of us would be here in the first place."

"Stop," North grunted quietly, trying to keep his voice down. "You're making a scene."

"_You're _ignoring the problem!" Alfred insisted. "If you would just stop playing this game of brinkmanship—of seeing how far you can push people—you wouldn't need to have a bomb shelter in a subway station in the first place!"

North was silent for a moment, quietly seething behind those dark eyes of his. He seemed to consider for a moment whether or not this was a fight worth having in the middle of a subway station. Then, he pulled Alfred farther off to the side, away from the crowds, before turning to him again, his anger visible.

"Whatever happens now is as much out of your hands as it is out of mine," North growled, still gripping the American's arm—tightly enough for it to be uncomfortable. "Stop acting like I have control over everything. I can't control whether or not South wants to bomb me."

"He doesn't want to bomb you! They're just drills!"

"How do you know?" North snapped. "How do you know? Have you ever stood on the brink, wondering whether or not a devastating attack might come?"

"_Yes!" _Alfred said, exasperated. "Yes, I have, North! For the entire fucking Cold War! I woke up every day wondering if Russia was going to nuke me."

North wrinkled his nose, seeming to concede this point. "But has it ever been so personal for you?" North asked. "Has it ever been your own brother standing on the other side—with his finger on the trigger, threatening to wipe you off the map? Has it ever been your own brother telling you that you shouldn't exist, or that you're unfit to be a nation?"

Alfred was silent for a moment. He couldn't claim to have felt an equivalent. The closest he could come to that feeling was staring down the barrel of Arthur's gun during the Revolutionary War. But that had been near the end of the war, when Alfred's victory was all but assured. Even if he had lost, America was a body far and separate from the British Isles, with a people and culture all its own. There was little chance he would have disappeared. Korea was another case. They had once been one nation, one people. No one was sure what would happen when or if the two reunified. One of them disappearing was a very real possibility.

Deciding he couldn't claim an equivalent, he simply said, "I seriously doubt Yong Soo ever said those things to you."

"Of course you do," North said, finally loosening his grip on Alfred's arm. "You don't know that side of him."

Then, North let him go, lingering to glare at him for a moment longer before going to rejoin the group.

Alfred followed along grudgingly. If only he'd kept his big mouth shut and let North brag about his subway…

They rode the subway only to the next stop before getting off. This station, called Glory Station, was even more magnificent than the first, with a higher ceiling and more intricate carvings decorating its support columns. Ki Young told the group more about the history of the subway and its construction before finally leading them towards a set of escalators that would take them back to the surface.

When they were safely above ground once more, they found that their drivers had driven the minivans to the subway stop to pick them up. While they loaded up, they were each given a small container with their lunch—rice and grilled squid—to-go. Mr. Richardson, they were told, would be meeting them at their next stop—the silk factory.

The silk factory was entirely female-run. All women. No men. Workers were everywhere, spinning away or dying fresh silk threads with extravagant colors, or tending to the thousands and thousands of silk worms that spent their days happily living out their life cycle before meeting an untimely end in a vat of boiling water, used to remove the silk threads from their cocoons. A young lady, dressed elegantly in a dress no doubt made proudly from the factory's silk, lead the group through the process from silk worm to silk fabric, then made a big show of presenting some sample fabric swatches made from the factory's silk.

As the swatches were being passed around, Alfred decided to try and lighten the mood a little—or at least his own, anyway. When a particularly girly looking swatch spun from white and pink threads reached him, he turned to North, smirking, and held it against the olive drab of the other's military jacket.

"You wear that military stuff all the time," Alfred said, still smiling. "I think you need a change of style. This one suits you."

At first, North glared, and Alfred was sure North was going to blow up at him again. Fantastic! Right when he's trying to lighten the mood, he screws it up and makes things worse again. After his previous conversation with North, he really should have expected this.

But to his surprise, the Korean just rolled his eyes and shoved the swatch back at him. "It suits you better."

Alfred was silent for a moment, almost stupidly happy at the mild response. "Nah. Too girly," Alfred replied, happy, at least, that North hadn't bitten his head off over the little joke. "I need something really sharp and heroic—like a suit made of gold and white silk. I'd look like a god!"

"You'd look like an idiot."

"I'd look awesome in that!"

"You look like an idiot all the time," North sneered. "Nothing you can put on is going to change that."

Alfred huffed, insulted, but after insinuating that North was a girl, he should have expected an answer like that. "Okay, then, what color would _you_ choose?"

North paused for a moment, looking through the swatches, before reaching for a red swatch with a tint that made it look like a fine wine. "This one. For me, not you. There's no hope for you."

"Red?" Alfred asked, trying to imagine the Korean wearing something so vibrant in place of the dull military jackets he usually wore. "Like that commie blood of yours?"

"If it were any other color," North hummed, "I would be concerned."

* * *

><p>Mr. Richardson, who had rejoined them shortly before their departure from the factory, looked concerned.<p>

"Look at the sky," he said as the group walked from the factory doors to the waiting vans. "All this rolled in in the past few hours."

Indeed, the sky, which had been relatively clear for most of the morning, had clouded over during their tour of the silk factory. Thick, blanketing stratus clouds seemed to float by almost low enough to be touched. A moist wind was blowing in from the west.

"I hope this doesn't affect our flight out," someone said.

Sure enough, shortly after they'd arrived back at the hotel to pick up their things, Ki Young got a call. Thick banks of fog had rolled in at the airport. Their adventure in Korea wasn't over yet. They wouldn't be leaving tonight after all.

"Your flight's been rescheduled to the morning," Ki Young told them.

Well, they'd made it this long without the Korean Peninsula descending into war, Alfred thought…surely they could make it through the night. Then it would just be a matter of leaving the country. With any luck, the North Koreans would just listen to what the American delegation had been telling them all week and not respond to the drills at all, whenever they took place.

Alfred looked around for North—wanting, at least, to urge him one last time not to retaliate in case he didn't see him in the morning—but the Korean seemed to have already slipped away. The rest of the group had been invited down to the karaoke bar—something to take their minds off the circumstances—but Alfred politely declined. How much influence the Americans were having on the North Koreans' decision was really up in the air, but Alfred couldn't help feeling that if the Koreans went to war, it would be partially his fault for not doing a better job at talking to North. No amount of karaoke was going to take his mind off that.

Instead, he dragged himself back to his room, thought about turning on the TV, and then decided against it. It wasn't like anything on would be worth watching anyway. What did that leave for him to do? He didn't have a phone, computer, or even a book to keep himself entertained, so he simply laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, running through the whole trip in his mind—the things he'd done, the things he'd said—everything. Maybe if he hadn't made a joke here, or hadn't said that thing there, North would have been more open to the things he'd been telling him. Or maybe he should've told more jokes and tried to talk to North more like a friend. Or maybe he should've just talked less overall. Maybe nothing he'd said to North would mean anything in the end. Maybe it would mean everything. Alfred didn't know, and he didn't want to think about the possible outcomes, but he couldn't help it. As a nation, if he could stop a war by talking with another nation, he felt like it was his responsibility to do so. What if he'd just screwed it all up?

He sat like that for hours, trying to convince himself that everything was going to be okay, before falling into a fitful sleep.

* * *

><p>The fog burned off a few hours after sunrise the next morning. Alfred, who had found himself unable to sleep much after sunrise anyway, had spent those hours packing his things and was ready to go as soon as the white minivans pulled up in the hotel parking lot.<p>

He was very stressed, he realized. Priority number one was getting his own citizens out of the danger zone. Priority number two was making sure he'd done everything within his small power to prevent a war before he left. After that, it was out of his hands. He wouldn't be okay, he realized, until his citizens were home and the drills were over and done with, assuming nothing else happened after that. It was the suspense that was killing him.

After everyone had their things loaded up, they left for the airport.

When they arrived, to Alfred's great relief, North was waiting for them. As everyone else got their things unloaded, he wasted no time in going to talk to the Korean.

"Good morning, American," North said flatly as he approached, showing no particular delight or remorse at Alfred's pending departure.

"Good morning," Alfred replied hurriedly, wanting to get to the point. "Anything on the South Koreans?"

"I don't know," North said, shaking his head. "I can't monitor them from here."

"What about on your end?"

North made a face. "What do you mean?"

"Are you still…planning on striking back?"

"That's none of your business."

"That's _all _of my business!" Alfred said, exasperated. Here they were on the brink of a war Alfred was doing everything within his power to prevent while North dodged his questions and acted like nothing he was saying even mattered! After everything that had happened! After North saying it was him who'd requested Alfred's presence, after North agreed to start over with him! It was so frustrating, feeling like there was so little he could do but doing everything he could anyway while the North Koreans just dragged their feet. "We've spent days trying to tell you why that's a bad idea!"

"We'll do what we deem best for the country," North said flatly—the same answer as always.

That was just about the last straw. Even through all the frustration, Alfred's stomach felt toxic with anticipation. This was his last chance to make a difference, and with the way this conversation was going, it didn't feel like he was making much of one at all. Whatever he said next, it had better be good. "I'll tell you right now," he said, "that war is not it. Think about your people. Do you want to put them through that? Over drills that aren't even a real threat to you? These people are your responsibility. Why don't you start acting like you actually care about them?"

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew he'd gone too far. North narrowed his eyes, glaring back at Alfred dangerously. "You worry about yours. I'll worry about mine."

The rest of the group had finished unloading their baggage and were regrouping off to the side. There were two dull thuds as the backs of the vans were closed. And then, a distant third.

Alfred paused.

For a moment, there was silence, and then—

_Boom._

The rest of the group froze.

_Boom._

Alfred glanced at North, who had fixed his hollow gaze southward.

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

Mr. Richardson and Mr. Namkung exchanged a look. Mr. Blitzer seemed to be debating between whether or not to switch on his camera. The two guides hovered uncomfortably between the group and the airport entrance. Everyone knew what was going on.

Suddenly, North's phone rang.


	12. Waiting

**Chapter 12**

To Alfred, the sound was unmistakable. The sound of distant shells wasn't exactly something that left you once the war was over. The Revolution, the Civil War, the World Wars, Korea, Vietnam, the Middle East. From distant cannon fire to far off shells exploding, it was a sound that stuck in a person's mind, especially a nation's mind—for it was a sound that meant somewhere, too far off for a nation to make a difference, people were dying.

And if something went wrong in the next few minutes, that was exactly what the sound of distant shells was going to mean.

North was fumbling in his pocket for his phone, urgently ringing with a call that couldn't be good. Before he knew what he was doing, Alfred reached out and grabbed the Korean's wrist, just as he'd managed to pull the phone from his pocket. North turned and glared at him dangerously, but Alfred held fast.

"Just…just remember what I said, okay?" he said, trying his hardest to give a well-meaning, encouraging smile.

North held his gaze for only a moment before wrenching his hand away and answering his phone. "Yeoboseyo."

All eyes were on North, who exchanged only a few words with whoever was on the other line before hanging up. Everyone stared at him expectantly, but North didn't say anything. Instead, he simply made a gesture at their handlers, who must have known what it meant, because they began to herd the group back into the vans.

"Wait—North!" Alfred called, trying to go after him, only to find himself cut off by the larger of the two handlers, whose entire purpose on the trip seemed to have become clear. "What's going on?"

"Follow your guides," North said simply, waving a hand dismissively.

"North!" Alfred repeated, this time visibly angry. God damn it! Why did North have to be so ambiguous and stoic all the time? Here was Alfred legitimately fearing for the safety of _literally _millions of people and, once again, North was blowing him off as if none of it mattered. To make things worse, Kang Dae, who had clearly only been assigned to them because he was probably the only guy in the whole country short of North himself who may have come remotely close to being able to take Alfred, was doing a very nice job of standing right in his way and making it very difficult to get at North.

"Follow. Your. Guides," North said again, firmly, before turning to leave. "They'll explain."

Alfred, still furious that North just couldn't give him a straight answer—ever—had no choice but to let Kang Dae herd him back towards the vans with the others. He got in, fuming, next to Mr. Richardson.

"It's okay," Mr. Richardson said in an effort to calm him. "Calm down."

"It's not okay!" Alfred exclaimed after taking a quick glance around to make sure Mr. Blitzer hadn't climbed into the same van before speaking as a nation. "I'm supposed to protect people and I feel as helpless as ever."

"We've done everything we can," Mr. Richardson assured him. "It's up to the North Koreans now. We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

Once everyone had been loaded up, they were driven back to the hotel. Clearly they weren't leaving yet.

After everyone was inside, the two guides sat them down in the lobby and attempted to explain what was going on. If the drills started before the group left the country, they were supposed to head back to the hotel, which is what their guides had done. From there they were simply supposed to wait and see what happens. If things went sour, they'd try to get the group to China somehow.

Where was North? Alfred had asked one of them privately after the meeting had dispersed. Busy, he'd been told. Unhelpful as ever.

He had to wonder if North had actually tried to arrange transportation for them at all. Every time he tried to talk to the guy, it seemed, he was blown off. But he was trying to give the Korean the benefit of the doubt, as hard as it was. North had to be just as stressed as he was. No nation _wanted _to go to war. If the North Koreans hadn't been so paranoid that war was always just around the corner, maybe Alfred could have believed that North truly didn't care about his people. But he had to be paranoid for a reason. It had to be because he was afraid of going to war. And that fear, Alfred hoped, would keep them from having one today.

Most of the group lingered in the lobby, hoping that the drills would end, and soon enough, they'd be on their way.

About an hour and a half later, the distant booms emanating from the south ceased. Still, the group was left with no clues as to what might be happening. Alfred positioned himself in front of the TV, hoping it could reveal something about the situation, but so far, it was the same, nationalistic programming as always. Neither guide seemed to have received any information about what was happening either.

They were treated to lunch by the hotel's restaurant, and then began an afternoon of waiting. About an hour in, Ki Young made a call. He never revealed who he'd spoken to, or what they had told him, but the call lasted less than a minute. Alfred suspected the guides weren't getting much of an update on the situation either.

Alfred spent the afternoon with a sick feeling in his stomach. Again, he had barely eaten at lunch. He couldn't eat when he was so nervous. The feeling stuck with him for the remainder of the afternoon. His head swam with questions and "what ifs." What would he do if they were at war in the morning? How was Yong Soo going to feel about all this? Would he feel sorry for North if something happened to him?

Finally, as the afternoon slipped into evening, the North Korean television station began to report on the day's drills. Alfred couldn't understand everything they were saying, but Mr. Nankung was there to translate.

"So far, they are basically just informing the public of what happened today," Mr. Nankung said. "The booms they heard were the drills. They call the drills an abomination and an overstepping."

After some stock footage of the North Korean military, the station cut away to the next thing scheduled, which, as it turned out, was some old Chinese drama.

"That's it?" Someone asked.

"It appears so."

Alfred sighed. So, they still didn't know what was going on. If they were going to war, would the North Korean TV station report on it? Would they spin fighting in a war as noble and patriotic in order to gain the public favor, or try to cover it up completely? Thankfully at least, no one had heard any additional booms since that morning, so there was less reason to think the North Koreans had responded violently, if at all.

Ki Young made another call—just as short as the last. But this time, at least, he offered an explanation. "He said to call back."

Alfred hoped that was a good sign, but he wasn't exactly sure how it could be.

An hour later, the Chinese drama ended, and the North Korean news returned. Everyone turned their attention back to the TV, practically on the edge of their seats.

The anchor lady spoke for a moment as military stock footage played behind her, then the scene cut to a military official speaking. When he was done, everyone looked to Mr. Nankung, who happily translated: "We felt it was not worth reacting one by one to military provocations. The South Korean drills are simply childish play by fire."

There was an instant, groupwide sigh of relief. Alfred wanted to laugh—just out of sheer happiness. They weren't going to war. Not today. Things might be okay, at least until next time.

"My god, this is great," Mr. Richardson said. "This is good news. Maybe we had an impact."

Alfred wondered the same. He had been worrying so much about how much of an impact he _hadn't _had on North. They'd been in meetings all week, saying the same things and getting the same, vague answers. North Koreans were so hard to read. Maybe they'd never planned to take anything the Americans said into account at all. But maybe something Alfred said managed to get through to North. If the North Koreans had been on the fence about what to do, maybe North had thought back to something Alfred had said and swayed his leaders the other way. Maybe none of it mattered at all. But, Alfred decided, he was going to hope something he'd said had mattered. He had to keep thinking that way, he realized, because one day, it really might matter. If he lost hope that others listened to what he had to say, he might stop speaking, and one day, something he didn't say could have made the difference.

Ki Young, was on the phone again, this time with someone who must have had the time to speak to him. He spoke for a while, and a moment later, he hung up.

"You can fly out now," he announced. "They are allowing activity at the airport once again."

The lobby was soon bustling with people trying to find their things so they could once again pack up and leave. In just a few minutes, they were off.

Alfred was disappointed to find that North hadn't come to meet them at the airport, but he couldn't blame him. The guy had probably been too busy to even think about coming to say goodbye. After all, why would that be at the top of his list of priorities? Earlier that afternoon, he was sitting on the brink of war. Alfred was sure, at this moment, North was sitting somewhere surrounded by a bunch of military officials, discussing what the effects of their decision not to retaliate might be.

A worker approached them with a box containing all the items they'd been required to leave at the airport—passports, laptops, and most importantly cell phones. Alfred had never been so happy to have an electronic device back in his hands in his entire life.

Night had fallen by the time the plane lifted off, but that was just fine by Alfred. He'd managed to fall asleep on the short flight from Pyongyang back to Beijing and had to be awoken so everyone could transfer to another flight back to the states. Once on the second plane, he was sure he'd slept nearly the entire trip. He'd simply been worrying too much during the past week to get decent sleep.

When the plane landed, the first thing Alfred did was check his phone. No surprise—it had been absolutely blown up with text messages.

_Matthew: hey, you okay?_

_Matthew: have you left yet?_

_Matthew: are you back?_

_Matthew: just text me when you can._

_Kiku: I am watching the news. I hope you are okay._

_Yong Soo: hey text me when you land_

_YongSoo: oh my god weren't you supposed to be back by now_

_Yong Soo: did that shitface let you leave yet_

_Yong Soo: I'm gonna kick his ass next time I see him_

Alfred couldn't help but suppress a chuckle. It was nice to know people cared about him, even though as nations, they didn't really have to. He ended up sending the three of them the same message.

_Alfred: I'm fine we just got delayed a bit_

Additionally, he thought Yong Soo's words probably warranted something extra.

_Alfred: and it's okay you don't need to do that._

After all, it was such hostile feelings between the two Korean brothers that had led to this situation in the first place. If they'd been on slightly better terms, maybe—just _maybe_—North wouldn't have been convinced South was going to try and wipe him off the map, and this whole crisis wouldn't have even been a problem.

But, Alfred was content to leave the "what ifs" for another day. He was still exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to go home, stretch out on his couch, and watch a movie or something. Sometimes he wished he could live a life without the stresses of being a nation—just have a job and raise a family and not worry about what war he might be fighting next.

But if he did that, who would be watching out to make sure crises like these didn't happen?

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Mr. Richardson patting him on the back and telling him to take care. "Yeah, you too!" he replied.

Soon, everyone went their separate ways. With his latest journey at a close, all that was left for Alfred to do was find a taxi to take him home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know you guys had to wait wayyyy too long for this. College was rougher on me than I thought it would be. This fic hasn't been discontinued though and probably won't be, even if it takes me years to get it done (speaking of, I think this is year two). This particular arc is over, but the story isn't, so stay tuned.<strong>


	13. Another Christmas

**Author's notes: **So, I wanted to do like a weekly or bi-weekly schedule for this fic, at least over the summer, but between the last update and this one I went to a convention and that kind of threw everything off. This ALSO ended up being the longest chapter I've written for this fic thus far at over 8,000 words, so...yeah. It took a bit longer than I would have liked anyway.

And because I know some people don't like reading fics with side pairings, I should warn now that this chapter contains what _could _be interpreted as FrUK. I don't really know. It's canon that they bicker constantly and that's really all they do here.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>

Alfred, unfortunately, didn't get much of a rest once he arrived back at his Pennsylvania home. The next morning, he got a call from the White House: he needed to come in to be questioned about the trip.

"Can't this wait a day?" Alfred asked with a sigh. He had only just gotten back a day ago, it was nearly Christmas, and talking about his trip was rather low on his list of priorities.

"No," the woman on the other line replied. "The Pentagon wants this done while it's still fresh in your mind. And the president wants to talk to you."

"Okay," he said reluctantly, wishing the Pentagon weren't so paranoid about wire taps and that this could just be done over the phone. "When do they want to see me?"

"This afternoon at the White House."

Alfred sighed.

"All right. I'll be there," he said before hanging up.

It seemed he'd never get a break.

The World Conferences had only ended, what? A few weeks ago? Almost immediately afterward he'd been called on to help diffuse the Korea crisis, and with all that going on, he'd nearly lost track of the fact that Christmas was a mere two days away. And now this.

With a groan, he went to get dressed.

A few hours later, he was walking into the White House, his lunch—hastily ordered from the McDonald's down the street—in hand. Inside, he walked to the usual reception office, where the woman he'd spoken to over the phone, Mrs. Webb, was waiting for him.

"Hi, Alfred," she said when she saw him. "The president is waiting for you in his office. The Pentagon's up there too."

"Okay, thanks," he replied, happy he didn't need to fill out any paperwork today, at least not yet. Normally, if there was something he needed to do, she would have given it to him.

When he got to the Oval Office, the president and two Pentagon workers were already seated on the couches.

"Come on in, Alfred," the president said when he noticed Alfred hovering in the doorway. Alfred dragged himself in and plopped down on a couch lazily.

"Sorry about this, boys," he said, eying the two stiff-looking Pentagon workers across from him as he began unpacking his lunch from the bag. "I hope you don't mind McDonald's…"

"No…it's fine," one of them said, looking very much like he was trying to hide his judgment. Sure, maybe eating wasn't the most _professional _thing for Alfred to be doing at a meeting, but he was tired, he was hungry, and he was the United States of America. What were these guys going to do about it?

"Well…I guess we should get started," the president said, clearly trying to move on before everyone could get too distracted. "Why don't you start by just telling us your impressions, Alfred. How did it go?"

Alfred, who had just taken a bite out of his burger when asked, had to wait a moment before answering. Too many times he'd been scolded for talking with his mouth full. "It…went."

"More specific," one of the agents said. "Give us a timeline."

Alfred frowned, spitefully taking another mouthful of burger before asking, "Where should I start from?"

"When you landed in Pyongyang."

"Okay…" Alfred began, trying to remember how it had all happened. Even though it had only been a few days ago, he was tired enough that the memories were already growing a bit fuzzy. "So, we landed in Pyongyang and met our handlers—"

"Their names?" One of the agents interrupted.

"Ki Young and Kang Dae."

"Last names?"

"I dunno. Probably Kim or something?"

The agent didn't look amused, but didn't press him any further. "Go on."

"Then they took our phones and stuff," Alfred continued, "and just held them at the airport. Then we went outside to pack our stuff into cars to go to the hotel, and I met North."

Then the two agents were shuffling through their folders and pulled out a file labeled "North Korea" on the front. "Tell us about him," one of them said.

"Okay. His name's—"

"We know his name."

Alfred frowned, too tired and stressed to tolerate being constantly interrupted at this point. "Well, gee. Sorry. You asked for the last guys' names, so I thought—"

"Alfred," the president scolded.

"You picked the two stiffest feds possible!"

"Focus, Alfred."

Alfred huffed, directing his attention back towards the agents. "Fine. What do you want to know? Be more _specific."_

The agent asking the questions chose to ignore Alfred's mocking tone, but the tension in his jaw was obvious. "What was his initial attitude towards you?"

"I don't know. He was…distant," Alfred decided, trying to choose the right word. "But polite."

"Did he ever seem like he was trying to threaten you?"

"Not really."

"What about brown-nose you?"

Now _that _made Alfred want to laugh. "Pff. No."

The agent simply shrugged. "It was a possibility. What happened next?"

"We went to the hotel," Alfred continued, "And the next morning we woke up and went to the first meeting."

"Tell us about that," one of the agents suggested.

"Well, I was actually a little late—" Alfred started before catching himself. That was the morning North had dragged him off to some deserted highway in the middle of a snow storm with the entire purpose of doing so being to avoid being overheard. Were the things said in that discussion simply things North didn't want to get back to his leaders, or were they meant to stay between him and Alfred, period?

Both agents and the president were waiting for him to go on. "Why is that?"

Alfred didn't really want to breach whatever trust of North's he'd managed to get, but it didn't look like he had much choice. Even if he'd gone with the story that he and North had gone back to the hotel to get something someone else had left behind, he was sure the feds were interviewing everyone else who had been in the group. They would find out that nothing had been left behind and that that was a lie. Then they'd want to know why he'd gone off with North, and he'd have to tell them anyway.

Plus, if it came down to what was said during that conversation being an issue of national security, he had an obligation to tell. It wasn't like the feds were going to tell anyone anyway. Keeping secrets was what they did.

"North wanted to talk to me."

"About what?" Both agents had out notepads now, ready to write down whatever Alfred said. The president simply waited curiously.

"He, uh," Alfred went on, a bit uncertainly. "—Er, well, the night before I'd asked him why they had asked to talk to Americans, but he didn't get to answer me. So the next day when he talked he told me he had asked to request a group of Americans."

"He asked his leaders?" One of the agents pressed.

"I…guess."

The both wrote this down eagerly. "On the rest of your trip, did he mention asking his leaders to do anything else? Or did you get the impression that they listen to his input?"

"Well—during the meetings with everyone else he didn't really say anything," Alfred said with a frown. "I kind of got the feeling he wasn't supposed to."

"Anything else?"

"He got phone calls sometimes," Alfred added. The agents both wrote that down quickly. Yes, North Korea had a phone. It was important to them, apparently. "I don't know who he was talking to though."

The two agents continued to ask him questions about the trip, sometimes about the meetings or the places they were taken to sight-see, but mostly about North. Alfred avoided mentioning that he and North tried to "start over." He figured that the feds would think him stupid for trying, and that North was probably just doing it in the spirit of the crisis anyway. He'd probably go back to hating Alfred in a week. Like a typical commie.

"We're trying to figure out how much power he has within his system," one of the agents explained. "And also whether he's more government oriented or citizen oriented. He's basically the nation we know the least about."

When the Pentagon agents left, Alfred turned to the president. "You guys sure are interested in this trip that you said your administration wanted nothing to do with."

"It's national security, Alfred," the president responded simply. "You know that."

"Yeah, I know!" Alfred said. "But if you wanted me to do all this spy work you could have…you know…asked?"

"We wanted things to happen naturally."

"Sure." Alfred didn't buy it. He was pretty sure the administration just didn't want to feel guilty if they sent him to do all that stuff and then something went wrong because of it. He started digging through the McDonald's bag for the last of the fries at the bottom.

"We're just trying to figure out what they're playing at, Alfred," the president explained. "They may have been fabricating a crisis—threatening all-out war to get us back to the negotiating table with them."

"Is it bad that they want to negotiate?"

"It is when they let us know like that, Alfred."

Alfred huffed and stuffed the last of his fries in his mouth. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them. "Is that it then? Or do you have some paperwork for me to do?"

"No, that's all," the president said with a smile. "You're free to go. Enjoy your holiday."

"Thanks. You too."

After crumpling up his bag, he was out of there. Time to put this whole mess behind him.

Yeah, he knew everyone was cranky and stressed because it was nearly Christmas. He felt a little bad for the way he'd acted in there, looking back on it, but who could blame him? He'd been around and dealing with this stuff for over 200 years. It got old.

Christmas did too, to be honest.

After a couple hundred Chistmases, it got a bit hard to find gifts he hadn't given before, and now he only had two days to find something suitable for each person.

He pulled out his phone to check the time, and found that he had gotten a couple texts from Matthew, who was playing host this year.

_Matthew: can you get here tomorrow night?_

_Matthew: oh yeah and you're making apple pie on christmas. it was requested._

Alfred sighed, then started writing his response.

_Alfred: yeah sure just buy the ingredients for me_

_Alfred: oh yeah are australia and zealand still coming?_

While he was waiting for a response, he hopped on the bus heading to the nearest shopping district. He knew it was going to be packed and that all the stores were probably pretty picked over, but hopefully he could still find something.

After a few minutes, his pocket buzzed.

_Matthew: ok. and australia is but zealand isn't anymore._

Great. So that meant he just had to buy for Matthew, Francis, Arthur, and Jett.

When he got off the bus, he just went into the first store he saw. The place was packed with people doing last minute shopping, but it seemed like there was still merchandise on the shelves, which was a good thing. He slipped between some people meandering slowly around the doorway and went deeper into the store.

The store's shelves were stocked mainly with knick-knacks and other trinkets. It was really…more of a girly store. It felt like a place someone's grandmother would have shopped—or else where someone would shop for their grandmother. Which was fitting, really—since England and France were, basically, old grandmas. There were shelves of ceramic statues of animals and angels and crosses, and even more shelves filled with snow globes and various Christmas décor.

Eventually, he came across a shelf filled with cookbooks, and he began leafing through one absent-mindedly. He'd gotten Arthur cookbooks on various occasions in an effort to help the old man find something he was actually able to make. Usually, Arthur was pleased to receive them, but whether or not the new recipes came out well was really hit or miss. On the other hand, he'd gotten Francis cookbooks before too, but the Frenchman usually just muttered about Arthur needing it more, and Alfred had never once witnessed Francis cooking something out of a cookbook he'd gotten him.

He put the book down and moved on to the next aisle.

The next aisle was pretty empty, most of the merchandise having already been snatched up by people here much earlier than him, but there were a few things scattered messily about on the shelves. At first he was about to leave—the aisle was filled with some very granny-ish things—but then, tossed under some flowery aprons at the back of one of the shelves, he caught a glimpse of the French flag. Normally, Alfred didn't buy nations things with their flags on them—they got enough of that—but when he pulled out the French apron, he saw the Union Jack sitting right underneath it. It was clear that someone had stuffed them back here with the intent of coming back for them later, but Alfred saw no sign of anyone else coming down the aisle, and that person may never come back anyway. And he was a little desperate.

And—then he had an idea.

The aprons didn't quite seem like enough, but he thought of the cookbooks he'd seen earlier. What if he got Arthur and Francis their respective flag aprons, and then the same cookbook? It might motivate Arthur to cook better and actually get Francis to cook something out of a cookbook Alfred had gotten him if he thought it meant he'd be doing it better than Arthur.

It was a plan, he decided. So, he swung back by the aisle with the cookbooks and pulled out two copies of one advertising New England cuisine on the cover.

After standing in line and paying, he was back out on the street, looking for stuff for Matthew and Jett.

After some wandering, he managed to find a cowboy hat (a _pink_ one, no less) that he thought Jett would get a kick out of. As he was thinking about how ridiculous the hat really was, he realized how jokey this stuff really seemed. Why not just make this year a gag gift year? He could even switch the French and British aprons so that Francis and Arthur got the opposite one as a joke. Yeah, that would be hilarious! That was it. He was going to do it.

That just left Matthew, and now he had to find him something just as stupid for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something bright and colorful. He glanced at what had caught his attention and—

Candy store.

Matthew's present could wait a second. Right now, Alfred wanted a giant lollipop. He'd spent all week dealing with North Koreans. He deserved it.

The store was busy, of course. The place was filled with people doing last minute Christmas shopping and buying last minute stocking stuffers. The shelves were stocked with a mixture of the usual and special Christmas additions in red, green, and white.

Now where were those giant lollipops?

When he finally caught sight of them, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Right next to them, shining in giant, gummy glory was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

A five pound gummy bear.

He was literally a kid in a candy store.

But as much as he wanted to buy a giant gummy bear for himself, he was pretty sure he'd just found Matthew's Christmas present. If _Alfred _was this excited for it, surely Matt would be too. Too bad he only had enough money left to buy one, or else he would have gotten one too. He'd settle for the lollipop he decided, and get the bear for Matthew.

Soon he headed out, Christmas presents and giant lollipop in hand. He was done. What a relief.

By the time he got home that night, it was nearly dark. Wrapping this stuff could wait until tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to eat something and relax. He ended up making himself a microwave dinner and falling asleep on the couch halfway through _Elf. _

The next morning, he awoke with a mix of excitement and dread. Christmas Eve Day. He had to be at Matthew's house tonight. He hadn't booked a plane or anything, so it looked like he was driving. And it was a long trip even without all the Christmas traffic.

He brewed himself some coffee and quickly wrapped his gifts, making sure to give France and England their opposite flags, then went to throw some clothes into a suitcase. As soon as he was done, he packed it into his car and headed out.

Traffic was terrible, of course. Despite only stopping once to grab lunch and go to the bathroom, the trip took practically all day. It was evening when he arrived at Matthew's house just outside of Toronto.

The house was decorated with the usual lights along the edges of the roof, as well as wrapped around the property's trees and bushes. There was also a lit up sled and a reindeer, which Alfred had managed to convince Matthew to buy a single, large red bulb for, since it was only right that the reindeer be Rudolph. There were other cars in the driveway and the lights in the house were on, so someone was home, obviously.

He rang the doorbell and waited.

A moment later, the door opened, but…there wasn't anyone there.

"Very funny, Matt," Alfred said, thinking this was yet another practical joke. It happened pretty much every year.

But then—"Oh. You again."

Many years ago, Matthew had found an injured polar bear cub abandoned by the side of the road. Its injuries were too severe for it to ever return to the wild, where it would have had a permanent limp, so Matthew had decided to adopt it. Since he had just established relations with Japan, he let Japan name the cub. Unfortunately, the name had been Japanese, and no one seemed to be able to remember it but the bear itself. Thanks to the strange magic that surrounded nations, the cub had not only learned to talk, but stayed eternally young after its injuries had healed.

Yes, it was the bear, too short for Alfred to see, who had answered the door.

"Hey, uh…bear," Alfred said, not even going to bother digging through his memory for the bear's name this time. "Where's your friend?"

"Who?"

"Matthew! Where's Matthew?"

"Oh, that guy," the bear muttered. "Fighting with that other guy."

"What other guy?" Alfred asked.

"Mm?" The bear simply did what must have been the bear equivalent of a shrug and meandered back off into the house. Great. Now Alfred was stuck in the doorway with a bunch of packages and no one to help him figure out where he was supposed to put them. He ended up just piling them inside by the doorway while he wandered off to find his brother.

He searched several rooms before finding Matthew and Jett upstairs in the media room, arguing.

"_Please, _Jett, I'm trying to clean! Move your feet!"

"Why didn't ya clean before I got here?"

"I've been _busy, _unlike you! Now move!" Matthew insisted, shoving the Australian's feet off the coffee table he was trying to clean.

Alfred wasn't really sure how to interrupt them, so he sort of just—

"Uh, guys?"

Jett paused the game he was playing and glanced back at Alfred, breaking into a big smile. "Aw, hey, America! Why don't ya come play a round with me?"

"Jett!" Matthew cried, clearly exasperated. "I'm sorry, Alfred! I've been trying to get last minute things done all night and Jett's being no help at all! Merry Christmas! Do you need help unpacking? Go help him, Jett!"

"Aw, he's a big guy," Jett drawled. "He can handle it by himself."

"It's okay!" Alfred insisted. "I just put my stuff by the door for now. What are you doing?"

"I'm _trying_ to clean this room so we can actually _use _it to watch Christmas movies later!" Matthew replied, moving a stack of magazines off the table and going to place them on a shelf across the room. "Can you help? Maybe start by unplugging the Playstation?"

"Hey!" Jett objected, his expression turning to horror as Alfred actually went over and unplugged the thing. He hated seeing Matthew this stressed and upset. Jett could wait to play his game. "What's the big idea?"

"The faster you help us get this place cleaned up, the faster Matthew will let you play your game!" Alfred assured him. "Sound good?"

"Not really."

"Too bad!"

After a bit of prodding, they finally managed to get the Australian up off the couch, and after a while, the mess in the room had been cleared up enough that the room would be usable for a couple of days.

"Is that all?" Alfred asked.

"I think so," Matthew answered, seeming content with the job they'd done.

"So can I play my game now?" Jett asked almost immediately.

Matthew sighed in defeat. "I suppose so."

"Aw, yes!" It was clear they were not going to see much of Jett until they could commandeer the TV for movies later.

Speaking of seeing people…

"Hey, Matt, where are the old men?" Alfred asked, realizing he hadn't seen either of them since he'd arrived.

Matthew's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "You mean they're not back yet?"

A moment of confusion passed between them.

"What do you mean, 'not back yet'?" Alfred asked. "Where'd they go?"

"They were driving me crazy with their bickering so I told them to go out and look at Christmas lights!" Matthew explained, pulling out his phone. "Eh—wait! Maybe they're in the house! You came straight up here didn't you?"

"I'll look for them!"

Alfred was gone in a flash, running through the house checking each room, with no sign of either of them. He nearly ran into Matthew the next time he ran out into the hall. "I can't find them!"

"I'm gonna call," Matthew decided, pulling out his phone again.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Put it on speaker!"

Matthew huffed in extreme annoyance, but did put the phone on speaker before dialing Arthur's number.

"Hello?" said an unmistakably British voice on the other line.

"Where are you?" Matthew demanded, the stress in his voice apparent.

"Oh, well you see," Arthur replied, fairly calmly at first, "this bloody arsewipe got us lost!"

"That is not true!" Francis could be heard objecting.

"It is so!" Arthur insisted. "You said, 'turn here! I know where I'm going!'"

"I did know where I was going but you didn't listen!" Francis objected again in the background.

Matthew tried to interject before the two of them could get into a _really_ heated argument. "Can't you look on your phone to see where you are?"

"I'm driving!" Arthur answered.

"Well, tell Francis to do it on his phone!" Matthew suggested. Firmly.

"He took my phone and he's sitting on it and he won't give it back!" Francis whined.

"He was—"

"Give him his phone, Arthur!" Matthew ordered so uncharacteristically sternly that there actually seemed to be a surprised silence on the other line for a moment. "Alfred's here and I want everyone to come home so we can have a nice night together as a family! Okay? Give him the phone!"

"Hmph." There was a moment of shuffling as Arthur dug Francis's phone out from under his rear. "There. I gave it to him."

"Ewwww, it's warm!"

"Good. Now tell Francis to type in my address in the map app, and it will tell you how to come home," Matthew said, much more calmly this time.

"He was giving me wrong directions earlier," Arthur complained with a huff. "That's why I took it away. You better give me the right directions this time, frog!"

"Matthieu!" Francis continued to whine in the background. "He was driving on the wrong side of the road on purpose to scare me!"

"I was not!"

"Arthur!" Matthew snapped. "Drive home! Francis, give him the right directions!" And then he hung up with an angry outward breath.

"Hey, this means when they get home, they'll be all tired out!" Alfred said, trying to cheer his brother up with an encouraging pat on the back. The poor guy. It was clear he was doing his best to make this a good Christmas for everybody, but things just weren't going his way. "And then you can have some peace and quiet."

"Oh, I sure hope so, Alfred," Matthew murmured. "They've been at it since they got here yesterday."

"Hey, I know…" Alfred said, an idea forming in his head, "Why don't we start up the fire place downstairs and I'll make you some hot chocolate and we can sit down there with the radio tuned to the Christmas station and just relax?"

"Oh…that would be wonderful, Alfred," Matthew sighed, slipping off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He was clearly exhausted.

Alfred got Matthew set up on the couch in front of the fireplace with some pillows and blankets in the den, then went into the kitchen to make a couple of cups of hot chocolate for them. When he was done, he went back and handed one to Matthew. Meanwhile, he set his own on the table while he went to move the gifts he'd brought out of the doorway and move them into the den to put under the Christmas tree. Since he wasn't sure where he'd be sleeping for the night, he just left his suitcase by the door and returned to the den, where he flopped down on a lounge chair and settled in with his hot chocolate. When he was done, he set the cup on a nearby coffee table before settling down again. Matthew seemed to have already dozed off. Not a bad idea. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep himself was the first few lines of _Silent Night_ gently playing from the radio.

Some time later, Alfred was awoken by someone complaining loudly about the "bloody rubbish" he'd left in the doorway. Glancing over and seeing Matthew still asleep, Alfred decided to go shut those old men up before they woke him up with their bickering.

He found them still standing in the entryway, dusting snow off their coats and continuing to argue about whose fault the whole incident had been.

"Can you two take this somewhere else?" Alfred not so much asked as he did insist. "Matthew's been busting his butt all day and your bickering is really stressing him out."

"Oh, not so much as a 'hello', I see," Arthur griped, hanging his coat up on a nearby hook. "Not even a 'Merry Christmas'? He got those manners from _you, _France."

"Don't turn this around on me! You raised him, _England," _Francis retorted, promptly moving Arthur's coat from the hook he'd just put it on so he could spitefully put his own in its place.

"Shut up!" Alfred hissed, putting a finger to his lips. "Matthew's asleep and I want it to stay that way! Go get a room and fight it out up there, okay?"

"Ex_cuse _me, Alfred?" Arthur gawped, apparently appalled that Alfred would ever dare insist that he and Francis needed to 'get a room.'

"Merry Christmas. Goodnight," Alfred said, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he turned to leave. What a way to start Christmas.

As he made his way back to the den, he could hear the two of them still arguing about the situation, although a bit more quietly now.

"See? You upset them. Both of them."

"No, that was your fault!"

"Shut up and go upstairs!"

"You first!"

Somehow, Alfred managed to tune them out and drift off into sleep.

He was awakened the next morning by Jett running down the stairs shouting exuberantly. "It's Christmas! Christmas mornin'!"

"Be quiet, Jett!" Matthew hissed from the kitchen. "People are sleeping!"

"Not anymore," Alfred muttered, stretching out on the chair with a groan.

"Needed to wake up anyway," Jett said defensively. "Where's everyone else?"

"Asleep!" Matthew hissed again. "Why don't you come help me make breakfast?"

"Can I lick the spoon?"

"Wait!" Alfred was up and out of the chair now. "I wanna lick the spoon!"

"Hey!"

"Whoever does a better job helping me can lick the spoon!" Matthew announced.

"Deal!" Alfred and Jett said at once, both of them racing into the kitchen to help Matthew.

The three of them spent the next half hour cutting up fruit and mixing eggs and flour and butter into Matthew's famous pancake batter. Matthew manned the stove and the other two worked on setting the table. Finishing with the table before the pancakes were done, Alfred and Jett turned to Matthew expectantly.

"Who did better?" Jett asked.

"I don't know," Matthew replied. "I wasn't really watching. Sorry. One of you can lick the bowl and the other can lick the spoon. Fair?"

Alfred ended up taking the bowl and letting Jett have the spoon. Around the same time, Arthur came down the stairs, still in his sleeping clothes and night cap, and wandered groggily into the kitchen.

"Good morning, gramps," Alfred said teasingly. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," Arthur grumbled sleepily, pulling out a chair so he could sit down at the table.

"Would you like some tea, Arthur?" Matthew asked, bringing a stack of fresh pancakes to the table.

"That would be nice…" the other murmured.

While Matthew got to work brewing a pot of tea, Alfred and Jett started filling their plates with pancakes.

"Where's Francis?" Alfred asked, hoping the other's name wouldn't instantly incite an argument.

"Still asleep," Arthur muttered. "Like the lazy arse he is."

A few minutes later, the Frenchman himself wandered down to the kitchen, wearing nothing but his underwear.

"Oh, bloody hell…" Arthur groaned, shielding his eyes. Alfred struggled to suppress a chuckle.

Francis, for once, helpfully ignored Arthur's words, though he still made a point to sit right next to him at the table.

"_Joyeux Noël_!" he sang as he helped himself to a plate of Matthew's pancakes.

"You couldn't at least wrap yourself in a blanket or something?" Arthur complained, side-eyeing the near naked Frenchman.

"Why?" Francis asked. "I like sleeping in my natural state."

"You're not sleeping anymore!"

"Aw, stop yer bickerin'," Jett muttered through a mouthful of pancake. "It's Christmas."

Arthur wrinkled up his face, as if the idea of getting along with Francis was in itself repulsive, but he didn't push the issue further.

Matthew came over with a cup of tea for Arthur, then went back to the counter to bring over another batch of pancakes before having a seat himself.

He seemed a little uncomfortable. "I'm uh…sorry I hung up on you last night," Matthew said quietly, averting his eyes. "I was just stressed."

"Don't worry about it," Arthur said, taking a sip of his tea.

"Ah, you don't need to apologize, Matthieu!" Francis said as he poured syrup across his pancakes.

Matthew smiled softly. "Sorry…"

"You apologized for apologizing!" Alfred pointed out.

"I'm sorr—shut up, Alfred," Matthew said, dribbling syrup over his pancakes.

From then on, they were able to eat in relative peace. Soon, everyone was done and ready to open presents. They'd save the kitchen cleanup for later, since they'd be cooking again soon anyway.

"Who's going first?" Alfred asked.

"I think Matthieu should go first, since he's playing host," Francis suggested. Everyone else nodded in agreement, except for Matthew, who shied away bashfully.

"I don't think—"

"You're going first, Mattie!" Alfred insisted, thrusting a present his way.

They each took turns opening presents. Alfred waited excitedly each time someone was about to open one of his. Matthew got a nice laugh out of the giant gummy bear, which his own polar bear cub had been around to see him open.

"It's you!" Matthew exclaimed, getting the bear's attention.

"But it's red," the bear pointed out.

"Close enough."

And just as he'd thought, Jett was delighted with his new, silly hat.

"Awright!" he said as he opened the pink monstrosity. "I'm gonna wear it to my next meeting with my boss."

"Geoffrey Ralph Smith!" Arthur scolded, pulling out Australia's full name for added disapproval.

"Nuh-uh, gramps," Jett said, waggling a finger as he put the hat on defiantly. "You may call me Jett or Australia. Those are yer two options."

Arthur ignored him. "You can't wear that to meet your boss."

"Yer not the boss of me."

Finally, it came time for Arthur to open his gift from Alfred, but Alfred stopped him before he could start.

"Wait!" Alfred interrupted. "I want you and Francis to open yours at the same time."

Arthur and Francis exchanged a look.

"Oh, I can't _wait_ to see what you've got in store for us," Arthur grumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Alfred just smiled knowingly, eager to see their reactions. "Go on!"

As they were pulling the aprons out of the bags, Alfred heard Matthew mutter beside him, "You _didn't."_

Oh, but he had.

"Alfred Foster Jones!" Arthur practically shrieked in horror as he pulled a French flag patterned apron out of the bag. "You can't possibly expect me to wear this!"

But Alfred was laughing too hard to answer. Arthur's reaction had been even better than he'd hoped!

And it kept getting better. Rather than also erupt in anger, Francis took the joke gracefully. "Ah, my dear _Angleterre,_ you would look lovely in my flag," he purred.

It was only then that Arthur seemed to notice that Francis had been given a similar gift, the only difference being that his sported the Union Jack.

"No!" Arthur objected as soon as his eyes landed on it. "I don't want _my _flag covering _your _ugly codpiece!"

When Alfred finally managed to stop laughing, he added, "You can trade."

"Let's trade!" Arthur said immediately, reaching for the other apron, which Francis quickly pulled out of his reach.

"I want to see you wear it first!" Francis grinned.

"No! Absolutely not! Trade me!"

"Why don't you both cook something out of those cookbooks you haven't even noticed I put in the bags," Alfred suggested, "and whoever wins decides what to do with them?"

"Alfred!" Matthew scolded him.

"Well, that's not even a contest," Francis bragged, flipping his hair. He pulled the book out of the bag and looked at the cover. "_More than 200 Classic New England Recipes from Clam Chowder to Pumpkin Pie," _he read.

"Nonsense!" Arthur broke in. "It descended from _my _food so obviously I can make it better!"

"Is it a bet then?" Francis challenged.

"It's a bet!" Arthur confirmed.

Soon enough, the two of them were flipping through the books, trying to decide on a recipe

Meanwhile, Matthew handed Alfred an envelope.

"This is the last thing," he said. "It's for you."

"What?" Alfred asked, confused. "But I thought I'd opened everything from all of you."

"You did."

Confused, Alfred opened the envelope to find a handwritten note:

_Dear Alfred,_

_I feel really bad about you having to deal with my brother for a whole week. I wish there was a way to stop this entire crisis without you having to go in like that. By the time you get this, it will be Christmas and hopefully everything will be okay. Now you get to just relax with your family. And since you're the best friend in the world, why don't you come relax with me at a spa sometime? You deserve it._

_Your friend,_

_Yong Soo_

Enclosed was a voucher for one of Seoul's high end bath houses, which included all the perks from massages to hot tubs.

"When did he give this to you?" Alfred asked. "How did he get it here?"

"The same day he found out about the drills going ahead as planned," Matthew explained. "He came up to me with the envelope and told me to save it for you. He wanted it to be a big secret I guess. Maybe he was embarrassed?"

"About asking me to go to a spa with him?" Alfred pondered that thought. "Maybe." As he thought about it, there had been one day during the world meetings where he and Yong Soo had had a talk about him needing to go to North Korea to diffuse things. Afterwards, Yong Soo had run off in a hurry, and Alfred had later found out he had nowhere else to be that day. Now Alfred thought he knew what happened: Yong Soo must have been running off to give this to Matt between his meetings at a time when Alfred wouldn't be around to see the exchange. It seemed like a lot of trouble, but it was the only explanation he could come up with.

After all the presents had been opened, everyone helped with the cleanup, piling wrapping paper and boxes into a trash bag so they could easily be disposed of. Alfred gathered his gifts—that game he'd been wanting from Matthew, some weird Australian candy from Jett, a book on etiquette from Arthur (well, after today, he probably deserved it), and a bottle of wine from Francis (it included a note that read "because you can't buy it in your own country!")—and piled them near his suitcase, which he now realized he should probably move, so he took it upstairs to an empty guest room and dumped it on the bed before heading back down to help with the cooking.

Arthur and Francis had found a simple recipe for Indian pudding in their cookbooks and were eagerly combing the kitchen for ingredients they'd need so they could get their contest out of the way. Meanwhile, Matthew was cleaning the turkey and had set Jett and Alfred to work peeling potatoes and earing corn, respectively. They spent the rest of the morning making preparations and cooking.

Halfway through, Arthur and Francis insisted that their creations be judged, so Alfred, Matthew, and Jett took a break from what they were doing and sat down at the table.

Indian pudding was a traditional New England dessert that had evolved from hasty pudding, made from cornmeal and milk mostly, and spiced up with…well, spices—and whatever else deemed necessary to make it taste good, giving the competitors a great deal of freedom. So the results would be…interesting.

Each armed with a spoon, Alfred, Matthew, and Jett sampled the two entries while Francis and Arthur waited to hear the results.

Since it was Alfred's food, he thought he might as well give his vote first.

When he was young, he'd idolized Arthur. Even though he'd been well aware that Francis was the better cook, he'd eaten whatever Arthur served him with gusto. Arthur had been his caretaker, and Alfred had looked up to him. In those days, he never would have dreamed doing anything that might hurt Arthur.

But things had changed a lot since then. Alfred no longer felt obligated to put Arthur on that pedestal. He no longer felt obligated to say that England's cooking was great no matter how bad it was. Today, Francis was the better cook. While Arthur's version hadn't been _bad, _it was rather bland, and nowhere near as smooth or sweet as Francis's had been.

"The Frenchie gets my vote," he said, looking away when he caught that look of betrayal from Arthur. Francis smiled knowingly.

Next was Matthew, who must have hated the idea of choosing between the two as much as Alfred did, since he avoided looking at either of them. "Um…I guess I vote for Arthur's?"

"Aw, you're just giving him pity votes!" Jett broke in. "Francis wins."

Francis grinned victoriously, while Arthur scowled beside him. "Ah, do not feel bad, _Angleterre! _I will be sure to compliment you on how fabulous you look!"

"I don't want to hear it," Arthur grumbled. Francis just continued to grin.

"Come on, Arthur!" Francis insisted, bringing over the French patterned apron. "Put it on!"

"No!"

"That was the agreement! Whoever wins decides what to do with them!" Francis pressed, trying to slip the string over the other's head. "And I decide that you wear it the rest of the time while we're cooking!"

It took some more prodding—and maybe a little bit of wrestling—but Francis finally got Arthur to wear the thing. Then he was pulling the Union Jack one over his own head and grinning like he'd just won the lottery.

He threw an arm around Arthur's shoulders. "Don't we look fabulous? Take a picture!"

That, of course, got Francis a stiff elbow to the gut, but apparently he thought it had been worth it, since he was still grinning even as he slinked away like an injured cat.

By lunchtime, everything was ready, including the apple pie Alfred had promised he'd make. Everyone soon sat down for a comparatively peaceful meal of turkey, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, stuffing, dinner rolls, fruit salad, and apple pie.

It had basically been a whole year since Alfred had gotten to sit down and eat with family like this, since everyone celebrated Thanksgiving at different times. It was nice—especially when they could avoid bickering and talk and laugh together. They found themselves talking about mostly funny things, like the last awkward thing Germany had done, or some moment from the past summer's World Cup.

Eventually, Alfred's trip to North Korea was brought up.

"I don't see why you waste your time with it," Arthur said, begrudgingly taking a bite of pie that Alfred could tell even _he_ was mentally admitting was good. "They're mad. The whole lot of them."

"They asked for Americans."

"Bollocks."

"Did you want me to ignore them?"

"North Korea's a maniac," Arthur continued, ignoring Alfred's question. "He doesn't give a single damn about you or anyone else."

"You didn't answer my question," Alfred pointed out. "What was I supposed to do? Ignore him and hope a war didn't happen?"

"I don't think it would have," Arthur said, taking another bite of pie. "He knows you want to play the hero. He's in a tough spot because he won't change his ways and no one will talk to him. No one's feeling sorry for him and no one wants to help. So what does he do? He threatens war, knowing you'll come to the rescue and stop him. So now people are taking notice of him again and talking to him and he's no closer to changing because he'll just talk his way around it. Waste of time."

"But how is talking a bad thing?" Alfred asked, beginning to think this was the same conversation he'd had with his boss all over again. "What if talking opens him up and he starts to change?"

"You're such an optimist," Arthur sighed. "We've been trying that for sixty bloody years, Alfred, and it hasn't worked."

Francis, who had been silent for the entire conversation thus far, finally gave his input. "If he really wanted to change," he started, "he would have."

"If he even _cared_," Arthur said, accentuating the last word harshly. "If he even truly cared about his people, he should have taken the fall long ago."

"And let South take over," Francis finished.

Alfred felt a twinge of sadness run through him. "Are you seriously suggesting he should just—"

"Yes, Alfred, I am," Arthur said, cutting him off. "Maybe it's harder for younger nations like you and Matthew and Jett to see, but some nations just don't make it. They're not cut out for it. _He's _not cut out for it. He's cheating the system. Delaying the inevitable. All at the expense of his own people."

At that point, Matthew and Jett, who seemed to have grown a bit uncomfortable with the conversation, got up from the table and started to clean up.

Alfred was silent. It was hard to swallow, but everything Arthur and Francis had brought up were good points. North could have absolutely no desire to actually talk productively. He could have staged the whole wanting to talk thing for the attention. He could give zero fucks about his people. He could have no plans to change whatsoever.

But Alfred found that idea hard to swallow. Every nation was so in-tune with their people that even the suffering of a few of their citizens was hard to ignore. Surely North cared, at least a little.

And the idea that North cared made it even harder for Alfred to tolerate that Arthur had basically said that it would be better if North just disappeared. Maybe there was some truth in that line of thinking, but every time Alfred had thought that way in the past—about Imperial Japan, about Soviet Russia, about Vietnam—he'd regretted it. Sometimes the enemy, no matter how much Alfred hated them at the time, simply had no choice but to follow their leader's orders. Maybe it was easier to think about destroying your enemy when they were just a faceless force you were fighting against. Maybe that was why Arthur thought this was all a waste of time. If Alfred began to see North as anything other than a faceless enemy, might it be harder for Alfred to do the best thing for the Korean people?

"He can't be that heartless," Alfred said finally.

But Arthur seemed to have already grown bored with the conversation and was rising to help Matthew and Jett with the cleanup. Francis, who was still seated at the table, let out a sigh.

"You just can't save them all, Alfred."

Once the mess was cleaned up, the family settled down to watch the _Christmas Story_ marathon, occasionally making snide comments about how one character or another resembled someone in their own family. Afterwards, everyone went outside briefly for a snowball fight before everyone (minus Matthew) decided it was too cold and came back in. Then it was back to movies, this time _It's a Wonderful Life_ with a couple of bowls of popcorn.

When that was done, Alfred was beginning to feel like those warm and cozy feelings were making him just a bit _too _warm, and it was then that he realized he probably needed to go shower. So, while everyone else flipped through the channels looking for the next movie, Alfred went down the hall to the guest room where he'd dumped his stuff and started looking through his suitcase for a change of clothes. Half the stuff in his suitcase was leftover from his trip to North Korea and just a bit too formal to wear around the house. Surely he'd packed a T-shirt or something?

He finally found one stuffed in the bottom. From there, he reached into a side pocket to grab a fresh pair of underwear and found himself pulling out a piece of paper along with it. What was this? He flipped it over and saw a series of numbers. Oh. This must have been North's number that Alfred had gotten him to scribble down. After today's conversation with Arthur and Francis, he was wondering how well this "hotline" idea would actually work. How did he even know the number North had given him was real? And if it was real, what was stopping North from just ignoring him?

Well, he'd never know if he never tried, so he entered the number into his contacts, setting the name as "Commie," because why not? Then he sent a simple text message:

_Alfred: I know you probably don't celebrate it but merry christmas!_

Then he left his phone on the bed and went to take a shower.

When he came back, rubbing his hair dry with a towel, he was surprised to find his phone screen lit up. Setting down the phone, he picked it up to check his messages. Incredibly, he'd gotten a response:

_Commie: Merry Christmas_

Maybe there was hope in the world.

* * *

><p><strong>More author's notes: <strong>

I'm sorry for:

- that "who?" joke. Couldn't help myself. Sorry.

- sort of but not really writing Australia's accent. I wanted him to talk noticeably differently, but I'm not really a fan of seeing accents written out.

- possibly butchering or misusing British slang. I'm from Texas.

- that stuff that could have been interpreted as FrUK.

I didn't really know what to do with Kumajirou. I wanted to acknowledge his existence, but the canon that surrounds him, with him unable to remember Canada's name and Canada unable to remember him, is kind of...eh. It needed explanation, so I hope what I gave made sense. I never did have Canada actually try to call him by his name, but it probably would have just been something Japanese-sounding but incorrect like "Keramatsu," and Kuma calling Matthew something like "Maxwell" in return.

Yes, my headcanon is that Australia's name is really Geoffrey, but he prefers to go by Jett. I know Jett was a possible name Himaruya gave for him, but realistically, no one was calling themselves "Jett" when Australia was founded, so I feel like his name must have originally been something else. I feel like he chose "Jett" for himself later.

On the topic of human names, if you go back to earlier chapters of this fic, you'll notice that I've changed all instances of "America" in the narrative to "Alfred" for consistency. Most nations close to Alfred, meaning FACE + Australia + South Korea have also had their names changed to be the human ones in most instances. I want nation names to be used for nations Alfred's not particularly close with, or during sort of distant moments between them, with the human names reserved for his friends and family, or to be used in intimate moments.

And one last, just sort of fun fact: France does not officially recognize North Korea. Not only are relations between them non-existent, but France considers South Korea to have jurisdiction over the entire peninsula. Their view is basically that the North Korean government is illegal. The UK, on the other hand, does have established relations with North Korea but they by no means pretend to be friends. They really pretty much share the US view on North Korea, the only difference being that the UK has an embassy in Pyongyang and the US has to do everything through Sweden since the US doesn't have officially established relations with North Korea.


End file.
